


The French Connection

by Anathema Device (notowned)



Series: Every man for ourselves [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Pre-Slash, everyone is a BAMF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 16:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7395340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notowned/pseuds/Anathema%20Device
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond is asked to work with the French to take down a dangerous criminal, Rochefort. He has to get to know and learn how to work with the best team they have — the four agents codenamed Athos, Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You’ll be working with the French on this one, 007.”

Mallory leaned back in his chair and put the tips of his fingers together, as if in contemplation. “We’ve been laying the groundwork for an identity for you as a drug lord hoping to ally himself with Jean-Louis Rochefort, a chemical arms manufacturer who’s been selling to ISIL and a few unsavoury governments. You’ll head to Paris with Q tomorrow to meet the French team at DGSE HQ and we expect you to make contact with Rochefort’s second in command after that.”

The last time Bond had worked with the French, it had been a chaotic failure. He had no good memories of that mission whatsoever. “Why us? Why them?”

“The intelligence is from us, but Rochefort and his operation are French. We’ve been working together, and you’re thought to be a good fit for the drug lord.” Bond glanced at Q and dared him to say anything, but Q remained quiet, even controlling his often treacherous lips. “Tanner has the file, and Q can fill in the background there. Rémi Treville in the DGSE will direct the mission, under the orders of his eminence.” Mallory pulled a face as he mentioned the director of DGSE’s foreign intelligence department, Armand Fournier.

“And how is our dear cardinal?” Bond asked. “Still reptilian?”

“I couldn’t possibly comment on that, 007.” But Mallory’s slight smile told Bond that his opinion of his French counterpart was surpassed in cynicism only by Fournier’s own about Mallory. “Any other questions?”

“No, sir.”

“Then dismissed, 007. Thank you, Q. I know it’s a bit of a nuisance.”

“Not at all, sir. I’m curious to have a look at the French side of things.”

“Then enjoy it while you can.”

“Paris, eh?” Bond said, as he and Q walked away from the office towards the lifts. “How’s your French?” he asked, in French.

“Better than yours,” Q answered in the same language. “Haven’t been to Paris in years.”

“You don’t even have to fly there.”

“Quite. But unlike you, 007, MI6 doesn’t fly me to exotic locations to kill people on a regular basis.”

They were still speaking French. Q’s accent was lovely, and made the words seem much sexier from his mouth, which was sexy enough without help. “Not when you can do it in your pyjamas from your flat.”

“I don’t need clothes on at all.”

“Of course not. I’m aware of how much you can do while undressed, Q.”

The quartermaster only smiled as the lift arrived and he stepped in front of the three people already in the lift. “You’ve only scratched the surface of my abilities there, 007.”

“Perhaps when I return from Paris, you can debrief me.”

That night, in Bond’s apartment, Q bit him on the shoulder. “Ow,” Bond said. “What was that for?”

“Trying to make me corpse in front of other people. ‘Debrief me’. You’re such a shit, James.”

Bond cupped Q’s arse. “But I was serious. I let you debrief me all the time.”

“I should make you an exploding g-string and forget to tell you how to disarm it.”

“Then what use would I be to you?”

“Did I say anything about damaging your mouth, 007? That was a hint, by the way.“

“Of course, Quartermaster. Right away, sir.”

“Carry on, 007.”

⚜-☓ -⚜-☓ -⚜

They caught the ten-fifteen train to Paris and arrived at [La Piscine](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Directorate-General_for_External_Security) just after one o’clock. The young man who met them, told them that Treville was waiting for them upstairs. Once they had their passes, he took them up to a small conference room, where five men and one woman sat around a large table.

A man with military bearing of about Bond’s age stood and smiled. “Thank you for joining us, gentlemen. I’m Rémi Treville, and I’ll be directing your mission from HQ.” His English was good but heavily accented.

Bond held out his hand. “Bond, James Bond. Codename 007. And this is our quartermaster, Q.”

Treville shook his hand, and then Q’s. “Welcome, Commander Bond, Monsieur Q. Please, have a seat.” He indicated two empty chairs next to him. Introductions first. Do you prefer we continue in English, or do you speak French well enough to follow?”

“I’m quite fluent,” Bond said in French, “as is Q.”

“ _Bien sûr_ ,” Q confirmed.

“Excellent. So, we’ll finish our introductions.” Treville nodded to a man to the right, unexceptional in any respect save for his flat gaze and the scar on his upper lip, masked a little by an abundance of unruly facial hair. “Our team leader.”

The man rose and looked at Bond. “Olivier Valois—codename Athos.” He sat again, and continued to regard Bond with a total lack of expression.

The moustachioed Latin type next to him said, “René Mauriac—codename Aramis.”

“Paul Thibaud.” The big black guy on the other side of the table grinned at Bond, who rolled his eyes.

“No, no, let me guess. Codename Porthos?” Bond pointed at the kid in the corner. “And d’Artagnan.”

The kid wiggled his fingers to say hello. “Charles Girard. D’Artagnan.”

Bond shook his head. “Could you be more clichéd?”

Aramis responded, stroking his long moustache as if it was a cat. “Blame Treville. He’s the one with the Dumas obsession.”

Porthos’s grin grew wider. “Anyway, we can handle whole names unlike you British with your numbers and letters. 007, M, Q. C.” Bond winced internally at the reference to the dead Denbigh. “We don’t like sounding like crossword puzzles.”

Athos frowned at Porthos, before turning to the woman across from him, saying, “And this is Constance du Martin, our quartermaster.”

“Codenamed...?” Q asked.

“Constance,” she said firmly. Q nodded.

Treville cleared his throat. “Shall we get on?”

Bond glanced at him, and Treville continued. “We’ve had confirmation from Rochefort’s mistress that she’s prepared to meet our drug lord, ‘James Healy’, tomorrow night, here in Paris. Commander Bond and d’Artagnan will take that meeting, and use the mistress to lead us back to Rochefort.”

Constance rose and dimmed the room lights, while on a screen behind Treville, a woman’s face appeared. “Anne Dubreuil, codenamed Milady. Holds dual French and English citizenship. A former French agent, discovered to be double dealing with criminal elements five years ago. She killed another one of our agents, and went on the run. She’s been linked to two other leading criminals believed to be working for SPECTRE, and had been with Rochefort for about a year now. She acts as his second in command, and while he’s never seen, she acts as his public face. Your mission is to kill Rochefort and also to capture Milady, if possible. Kill if necessary.”

While Treville spoke, Valois’s eyes had not left Bond’s face once, though the others had kept their gaze on their leader.

“There’s something else you need to know,” Valois said, in English, looking now at both Bond and Q. “Milady is also known as Anne Valois. She’s my wife. The agent she killed was my brother.”

His team seemed to holding their collective breath, waiting for Bond’s response, but it was Q who spoke. “Why are you running this mission, if you’re emotionally compromised?”

“The cardinal ordered it. Presumably because he feels I will be much more motivated than any other agent to carry out the capture or kill order on her.” Athos dropped back to French. “You don’t have to worry about my performance, Monsieur Q. My primary emotional attachment is to my team, and my duty is to France herself. I think Commander Bond understands that?”

Bond wondered just how much background briefing Athos had on him. But now he understood the flat look in his eyes. Bond had seen it in his own every day for years. The look of a man betrayed by the one he loved the most.

That didn’t explain why Athos was _here_ though, in the twentieth arrondissement rather than at La Défense, heading a company and raking it in like any other blueblood. Valois’s English was the perfect, cut glass kind that spoke of expensive schools and private tutors, the French-tinted accent smoother and easier than Bond’s own adopted one, forced on him at school and SIS to hide his Scottish roots. But his French was the most beautiful and aristocratic Bond had ever heard, more pure than the wealthiest grand dames and scions of former nobility he’d ever had to seduce. One couldn’t buy that kind of voice. One had to be _born_ to it.

“I don’t have any doubts on that score,” Bond said. “Will she know anyone else on the team?”

“Porthos and Aramis, yes. D’Artagnan is new since she went rogue. You and he will pose as lovers, or rather master drug lord and his toy boy.” D’Artagnan grinned as Athos said this. “007, you’ll keep her busy while d’Artagnan breaks into her room.”

Bond didn’t like that at all. “Why can’t I meet her alone while one of you do the room? Another person complicates things.”

Treville answered. “D’Artagnan will pose as a chemist who’ll be dangled as part of the deal Healy is offering.”

“Surely it’s not necessary for him to actually be there.”

Q coughed. “Er, 007’s usual method of infiltration,” stopping to glare at Porthos who was hiding a chuckle behind his hand, “is seduction. How does posing as a gay man further that?”

“Allow me?” Aramis asked his leader, who nodded. “Milady is known to enjoy seducing the apparently unavailable.”

“Aramis is our expert on seduction of the unavailable,” Athos said, expression not changing at all, but at the head of the table, Treville appeared to be in some pain. “The less apparently obvious your interest in her skills as a seductress, the harder she’s likely to try.”

“All right. I can work with this scenario,” Bond said to Q. “Tracking?”

D’Artagnan spoke. “While one of us, hopefully you, is engaged with Milady, the other will place as many trackers and bugs as we can fit onto her personal belongings and computer.”

“Ah yes, that’s where I come in,” Q said. He held out a small USB drive. “On there, I have a virus which will autoload once inserted. All it does is send out a squirt of data every ten minutes, giving the device’s location. Works on any operating system.” D’Artagnan reached for it. “Are you comfortable with doing that?”

“Inserting a USB stick?” d’Artagnan asked innocently. “I dunno. Athos might have to give me advanced training before we go on the mission.”

Porthos looked about to wet himself with glee at Q’s sour expression.

Athos sighed. “Monsieur Q, d’Artagnan is our tech specialist. Not as advanced as you, I’m sure, but he’s more than competent at placing trackers, operating PCs, or anything this mission will require. He’s also our best undercover operator.”

Bond regarded the grinning kid. The baby of the group looked even younger than Q did at his most fawn-like, and unlike Q, could not possibly be more than twenty-five, maybe twenty-six at most. Taller and broader than Q and more obviously used to physical combat, he was probably not on the team solely for his tech skills, but Bond hoped there was more to him than his pretty face and the fact he was besotted with his leader, if the way his expression turned soft every time he looked at the man meant anything.

“Perhaps this would be a good time to run down the specific skills of your team, Athos?” Q said.

“As you wish. Aramis is our specialist in ‘infiltration’ as Q put it. He’s also our best sharpshooter, team medic, and my second.”

Aramis doffed an imaginary hat at Bond, smiling broadly behind his sleek moustache. Like his namesake, he clearly knew his good looks and nice manners were a weapon and a grace, and would use them as either as needed. Bond, who had to use his charm to compensate for a lack of natural beauty, was a little jealous.

“Porthos is our weapons specialist. Also our best weapon.” That remark made d’Artagnan laugh out loud, only to subside when Treville glared at him. Athos continued, ignoring the by-play. “He’s ex-Army, like me. Unlike me, he’s been known to make grown men shit themselves by smiling at them.” He permitted the smallest of smirks at that. Porthos’s smile looked about to split his face in half.

Bond bet Porthos was a clever, sneaky bruiser, and doubted he could take him even in an unfair fight. He’d have to take care to avoid one. Natural warriors could be beaten, but smart natural warriors were legitimately frightening.

“Do you fight, Monsieur Q?” Aramis asked. “Or do you stick to your lab?”

“I have defensive training,” Q said. “And Commander Bond has been kind enough to show me a few tricks too.”

“I bet he has,” Porthos said, nudging Aramis, making him laugh, and Bond grin a little. Even Athos smirked, while Q pretended he had no idea, none whatsoever.

“And yourself, Athos?” Q asked, his usual calm tones even drier than usual.

“I know Milady.”

“Forgive me for saying this, but you obviously didn’t know she was a rogue, so how well do you really know her?”

Every eye in the room was on Q, and every French one was hostile. “I won’t compromise this mission,” Athos said quietly, his tone as expressionless as a robot’s.

“Athos is a seasoned field agent and leader of this team, Monsieur Q,” Treville snapped. “You won’t find his skills lacking in any respect. I trust him completely.” _Unlike_ _you_ , Treville didn’t add, but the unsaid words hung in the air.

“Gentlemen, if you’re quite done,” Constance said. “I have things to discuss with Q about the equipment necessary for the mission.”

“Of course,” Treville said, his tone considerably more polite. “Monsieur, would you care to go with Constance to our quartermaster section?”

“Thank you, yes.” Q glanced at Bond.

“I’ll come find you when we’re done.”

“Excellent. So, m’selle du Martin?”

“Madame,” she corrected him. “This way.”

As the door closed behind the two of them, Treville climbed to his feet. “Gentlemen, I think it’s time to repair to more relaxed surroundings so you can get to know each other better, especially you, commander, and d’Artagnan.”

“Are you sure you want me to do that in front of the others, monsieur?” Bond asked in the tone that always made Mallory look like he was about to have a stroke.

“I’m up for it if you are, commander,” d’Artagnan purred. Bond arched an eyebrow, and the boy collapsed into giggles. “Sorry, Aramis has been coaching me.”

Treville sighed. “Get them out of here, Athos. d’Artagnan, Constance has your wardrobe. Commander, I assume you brought your own.”

“Of course. I also want to see what he’s wearing. As a rich sugar daddy, I have certain standards for my pet.”

“Not your damn _pet_ ,” d’Artagnan grumbled.

“Enough,” Athos snapped, and d’Artagnan flushed red. “Aramis, take them to the café. Porthos and I will meet you there shortly.”

“Right, boss. Come with me, my friends,” Aramis said to Bond and his team mate. “The coffee sucks but the pastries aren’t too bad.”

⚜-☓ -⚜-☓ -⚜

Aramis was right about the coffee, and Bond wished he’d ordered tea, as d’Artagnan had. “We’ve made so many complaints,” Aramis said as he watched Bond wince over the taste. “We think it’s deliberate, to cut down consumption.”

“Ah, yes. I think Six follows the same policy. Tell me about Milady.”

“Straight to the point, commander?”

“I need to get a feel for her, how she thinks.”

Aramis shook his head. “What she is now? No one knows, not even Athos. Back then she was nice. Competent, whip smart, worked well in a team. I would have expected his eminence to turn traitor sooner than her. So that tells you one thing you need to know—she’s _very_ good at deception. No one suspected at all.”

“Except Athos’s brother?”

Aramis winced. “Yes, except him. But since he’s dead, we can’t ask what tipped him off. I can tell you that she uses her good looks and sexuality like a weapon. She did a lot of undercover work, some before and some after she and Athos got together. But I never heard a word about her being unfaithful to him.”

“That’s one thing in her favour,” Bond murmured.

“Unless she was very good at covering that up as well,” Aramis said.

“What about her likes, dislikes? Hobbies, interests?”

Aramis stroked his moustache as he thought. “Beautiful things,” he said finally. “Art, music, people, poetry. She gravitated to it like a moth to a flame.” His eyes rested on d’Artagnan and he frowned. So far the boy was staying right out of it, but then he didn’t know Milady.

“And her marriage to Athos? Did she ever say what attracted her to him?”

“Now you’re treading on dangerous and too personal ground, commander. I prefer you to ask him. As Athos’s friend, I can tell you that his loyalty, brains and honour are what keep me around, but I can hardly tell you what he’s like in bed.”

But the glint in Aramis’s eye made Bond wonder if that was a ‘can’t tell you’ or a ‘won’t tell you’. “They’re polar opposites in background though. She was an orphan and fought her way through the foster care system where I got the impression she was very ill-treated. Studied engineering at University, joined the army and rose to the rank of captain, before being recruited to join us here. She’s no fainting flower, and is as tough and ruthless as any man in a fight. Even if that man is Porthos.” He smiled past Bond’s head. “Speak of the devil.”

“You talking about me again?” Porthos sat down beside Aramis, cup of hot chocolate in his hand.

“He was saying you fight like a girl,” Bond said.

“Bullshit.”

“I said Milady was as tough as you, which is not exactly the same thing,” Aramis said, not obviously annoyed by Bond’s provocation. “Ah, there you are,” he said to Athos, walking towards them. “We were just saying Porthos fights like a girl.”

“He does, if the girl is a dirty cage fighter with a knife and three kings up her sleeve.” Athos sat down. “A warning, commander. Porthos cheats at cards.”

“So do I. It’s the only way to be sure.”

Porthos let out a chuckle from deep in his big chest. “S’what I think too.” He beamed at Bond. “A man after my own heart.”

Bond wondered whether asking Athos about his wife in front of his colleagues would enrage the man, and decided against it. He could ask him later, though it sounded as if he would be practically worthless as a source of accurate information.

“Commander, I’ve been curious ever since that mess in London to have your insider view on what went down.”

Bond frowned at Athos. “If you like. A lot of it’s classified.”

“Of course. But it’s always useful to learn more about the enemy, and we’re in woeful shape when it comes to SPECTRE. Care to share?”

“Why not?”

Talking about Blofeld, Denbigh, and the death of M and her last message, ached. But since none of them knew about the humiliating dénouement to Bond’s affair with Madeleine, when she walked out on him because of his drinking, he could talk about the rest with comparative ease.

“Shit, your M sounds like the cardinal,” Porthos said, chortling at Bond’s description of Q facing down Denbigh over the Nine Eyes program.

“His eminence would just had Denbigh quietly removed, rather than confront him like that,” Aramis said.

“You feel comfortable expressing that opinion in an open space?” Athos asked, frowning at his colleague. “Mind your tongue, old friend.” Aramis bowed his head in acknowledgement.

“He’s that terrifying?” Bond asked.

“He’s so terrifying we can’t admit to being terrified, commander,” Aramis said, although he smiled. He looked at his watch. “Charming though this is, shouldn’t you be talking to d’Artagnan and going through your cover stories before Milady contacts you?”

“Yes,” Bond said, looking at d’Artagnan who had yet to utter a single word since he’d entered the café. “I need Athos’s perspective on her too.”

Athos looked as if he’d swallowed vinegar, but nodded. Aramis and Porthos climbed to their feet. “Time to hit the gym, I think?” Aramis looked to Athos and received confirmation this was acceptable through the tiniest of nods from his leader. “I’ll find Q and tell him what you’re doing.”

“I’ll let him know when I’m ready to catch up. If he’s done, I can meet him at the hotel instead.”

“Excellent. Have fun, gentlemen.” Aramis and Porthos both patted Athos on the shoulder as they left. Was the man that fragile he needed constant reassurance?

“I need more coffee if we’re going to talk about her,” Athos announced.

“I’ll get it,” d’Artagnan said a little too eagerly. “Commander?”

“Tea, please. No sugar, a little milk.”

The boy went off and Bond faced Athos’s stony expression. “Aramis said I needed to ask you...about your marriage. Specifically what attracted her to you.”

“Why do you need that? You’re not going to wed her, only bed her.” Bond just looked at him until Athos sighed. “The problem is, what she said and what she really believed are two different things. What you really know is if she would be susceptible to your charms, and I honestly have no idea. She’d sleep with anyone the cardinal ordered her to, and I believe you are the same.”

“While you were married?”

“It was just a job, commander.” Athos stared at his empty coffee cup. “In bed she was confident, adventurous, affectionate, funny. What else do you need to know?”

“Does she have any tells for when she’s bluffing or lying?”

Athos smiled at him like an empty grave. “If I’d known those, I wouldn’t be in the situation I find myself now, would I?”

Bond felt a twinge of sympathy. He decided the man couldn’t help him, and asking him more would only cause him distress. “You aren’t the first man to fall for a double agent. I made that mistake, long ago.”

“Then you have my commiserations.”

D’Artagnan returned, setting the cups on the table. “So, you and me, commander. How do you want to play this?”

“I was thinking with a leather collar and assless chaps, actually.” D’Artagnan choked and Athos smirked. “Have you ever played the role of a gay lover before?”

“Yeah, I have.” His chin tilted upward in defiance. “Though the other party wasn’t so much the daddy as you are.”

“Age jokes? From you?”

“D’Artagnan, don’t make me ask him to spank you,” Athos murmured, and d’Artagnan gave his leader a look of utter betrayal. “What back story do you want to use, commander, for ‘Charles Delacroix’ and ‘James Healy’? The relationship, then we’ll work up from there. How did you meet? D’Artagnan?”

“We met on the job, when you visited the lab. You asked me to dinner.”

“I told you we were having dinner,” Bond corrected.

“Okay. And I went, but I told you I wasn’t gay.”

Bond raised an eyebrow. “So I threw money at you? No, that won’t work. I got you drunk and you admitted you had sucked off some boys in high school.” D’Artagnan flushed to the roots of his hair. “And I asked if you’d enjoyed it.”

“I said I had, so what?”

“And I said, I thought you were a cocksucker when I saw you.”

“I got angry and tried to leave.”

“I grabbed your arm and demanded you kissed me. By this time you were drunk and decided what the hell.”

“I punched you on the nose and caught a taxi home.” The boy’s expression was now pure fury.

Athos held up a hand. “Back up. Healy, that’s too aggressive for such a naïve young man. He’s scared of you. You’re his boss. But maybe he wants you a bit, whatever he says. Seduce him, don’t force him.”

Bond didn’t know whether to be annoyed or turned on, but this was fun, so he allowed Athos to direct the scene. “All right. I apologise and ask him to sit down. I tell him that I’m out of practice and just wanted some company.”

D’Artagnan relaxed a little. “I agree, and we talk. Then we kiss a bit. He sends me home without taking me to bed that night, but I agree the next time we have dinner.”

“That’ll do.” Athos looked at Bond who nodded. “But it needs to be the kind of relationship where one of you can go off with a woman or another man and the other doesn’t put up too much of a struggle. So maybe Charles is in it for money too?”

“And he knows that he’s only one of a string of young men Healy has taken to bed, so he doesn’t fight too hard in case Healy sends him away.” D’Artagnan was still flushed as he said this. “Yes?”

“Yes, that works fine. We’ve been together a year and a half, and Healy is using the sex and gifts to keep you around working for him and not running to a competitor. I’ll be the handsy one. You can be clingy if you’re pretending to be drunk. What about your education?”

“I’ve been out of university three—four years,” d’Artagnan amended. “Something of a prodigy, earned a _Maîtrise_ with top marks at the age of twenty, but I got into trouble with the police over drugs and one of Healy’s cronies recognised my potential and pulled me out of the fire.”

Bond thought about it. “Yes, that’ll work. Milady doesn’t have to know any of this, you realise. She only has to believe we’re together, but that I swing both ways.”

“I know, but I need to get into the mindset.”

“Do you understand the documentation we’re providing for the bait?”

D’Artagnan nodded. “Yes. It’s a nerve agent which can be delivered as an aerosol, in the water supply or food, or even on contact. Friendly agents can be inoculated against it with a antidote, and its persistency can be varied. And, holy shit, I hope this thing is fake.” He shivered.

“No, it’s not,” Bond said. “But it’s extremely unstable, and the antidote doesn’t exist. We only need to hook her, not deliver.” He turned to Athos. “Does she know chemistry?”

“She knew a bit. She’s very bright and an autodidact. You,” Athos said, looking at d’Artagnan, “better know your stuff in case she questions you.”

“What about Bond?”

“I don’t need to know the details. That’s why I hire people like you. I handle the business end, not the science.”

“I’ll go talk to our technical people this afternoon,” d’Artagnan promised. “But I’ll do my reading too.”

“We have to prepare for the possibility she _might_ prefer you, d’Artagnan. If she’s trying to find out if I’m the real deal, she might try to use you to do that.”

“That lacking in confidence in your charms, Monsieur Bond?”

The kid needed a smack. “She’s manipulative and no fool. In her position, I’d target the naïve side kick, not the alpha male.

"Do you want to offer an opinion on that, Athos?” Bond knew damn well his skills were up to it. He knew nothing of what d’Artagnan could do.”

Athos stood, his expression bleak and his eyes looking past Bond’s head. “I’m sorry...excuse me for a few minutes, would you?”

He walked off. When d’Artagnan made to follow, Bond held his arm. “Leave him.”

D’Artagnan shook off his hand. “You’re not my boss.”

“I said, leave him. I know what’s wrong. I’ve _been_ him.”

D’Artagnan sat back on the chair. “Your wife was the traitor?”

“Not a wife, but yes. I fell in love, and was prepared to throw away my career for her. She betrayed me to men who tortured and nearly killed me.”

“What happened to her?”

“The bitch died.” Funny how he could say that now and it almost didn’t hurt at all. The scar tissue had formed hard where his heart used to be.

“He’s not like you. He’s not cruel and hard.”

“That’s his tragedy. You can’t help him with this, d’Artagnan. He has to come through it on his own.”

“We don’t work like that. The four of us are blood brothers.”

“Then the enemy has four times as many chances to break you.”

“Four times as many chances of being defeated.”

Bond refrained from sighing at the stupidity of it all. “It doesn’t work like that in my job. Connections make you weak.”

“Then I pity you, monsieur.” D’Artagnan looked him up and down in disgust. “My friend needs me. Excuse me.” He walked away before Bond could stop him without causing a scene.

Bond did sigh then. He could only hope the boy’s puppyish charms weren’t enough to entice Milady. Aramis might know if d’Artagnan had enough skills to keep a woman like her occupied. It only had to be for half an hour to give one of them time enough to plant the bugs, trackers and trace program. The easiest way to find out would be to take the kid to bed himself, but he had as much chance of that as Athos did of getting over his broken heart any time soon.

He messaged Q, but the quartermaster was still engaged with Constance. He bought more tea and wondered if he would have to go to the gym just to keep himself amused until Q was free, but only a minute later a somewhat abashed d’Artagnan returned followed by Athos.

“Sorry,” d’Artagnan said, staring at the floor. “Not very professional of me.”

“Nor of me,” Athos said. “My apologies, commander.”

Bond waved his hand a little. “I understand your feelings. But we don’t have much time to get in synch. If you can’t deal with this, hand it off to someone else. In the event she goes for you, are you confident you can keep her busy and satisfied for at least half an hour?”

“Won’t she be suspicious if a gay man suddenly turns into a love god?” d’Artagnan asked.

Damn, Bond must be slipping. “Good point,” he conceded. “Can you play clumsy and cute?”

“My speciality,” the kid said, grinning cheekily. Athos smiled slightly.

“Okay. Since you’re not gay, faking reluctance could be difficult.”

“I only have to remember what she did to us.”

“Revulsion is not what we’re aiming for here, d’Artagnan. You need to be clueless but willing to try. Be a little drunk, let her overwhelm you with her technique.” Athos was swallowing hard. “I’m sorry this is hard to listen to.”

“Don’t mind me.”

D’Artagnan put his hand on his leader’s shoulder and the man seemed to find it comforting. “We’re using her, not the other way around. It’s not like what she did to you, Athos.”

“No, it’s not,” Bond agreed. “She’s the mark. We’re in control. And with luck, d’Artagnan’s role will be to be told to run along and play while I take over, leaving him free to place our trackers.”

Athos’s shoulders slumped. Bond had guessed right. “She’s done so much damage. I hate the idea of her spreading her poison to my people. To those she hasn’t already betrayed.”

“She won’t. All d’Artagnan will be is distraction, if she goes with him. For all we know, she won’t be interested in either of us or the deal.”

“Then what?” d’Artagnan asked.

“All we have to do is keep her out of her room for thirty minutes. Fifteen minimum.”

“But if we can’t split up?”

“You need a backup plan,” Athos said. “Someone else to get into her room if you can’t do it. Aramis.”

“Perfect,” Bond said. “We just have to make sure she doesn’t go back to her room if she does pick one of us to sleep with.”

The other two relaxed, and at last Bond could do the same, marginally. He couldn’t help wishing he was working with Q on this, for all that his own quartermaster had almost no field experience. The two of them worked smoothly together in a way he could never hope to do with d’Artagnan. Still, he felt better about the whole thing now they had thrashed out the scenario. It was just so bloody tiresome working with other people at times.

⚜-☓ -⚜-☓ -⚜

Q had a Glock pointed at him as Bond let himself into the room at six o’clock, but lowered it immediately. “Your assessment?”

“Nice to see you again too, Q. I’ll talk about the mission but I need a shower first. Have you ordered room service?”

“No. I didn’t know what you planned.”

“The less I’m seen around Paris the better, so we shouldn’t go downstairs. Choose what you like, I don’t care.”

Bond showered quickly and as he towelled off, heard Q’s voice through the door. He hoped Q had ordered a bottle of wine.

“The food won’t be long,” Q said as Bond emerged, dressed only in the hotel bathrobe. “Ready to talk now?”

Bond went to the minibar and fetched out the Johnnie Walker miniature. “You?”

“No thanks.”

Bond poured the Scotch and took it over to the armchair, where he sat. “Something’s bothering you. What?”

“All of it, to be honest.”

Q was a worrywart and a perfectionist but Bond had rarely seen him this rattled. “So, tell me.”

“One, it’s a joint mission with the French and we have had dreadful experiences with them in the past.”

“Yes, but not with this team, though. Go on.”

“Athos’s former relationship with Milady. Could you put a bullet in the head of someone you used to love?” Q gave Bond the full benefit of his coldest look, which meant he was very worried indeed.

“He doesn’t have to. His team hate this bitch more than he does, and I’ll be there too. All he has to do is step aside, and as I understand it, he’s more than willing to do that.”

“You didn’t answer the question, 007.”

The use of his codename meant Q wasn’t in the mood for banter, and while that didn’t usually stop Bond, he felt Q was unlikely to appreciate being teased. “I don’t know, is the answer. But neither does he. That’s why he’s not going alone.”

“Why is he going at all? That’s what puzzles me.”

Bond shrugged. “He leads their best team, and he’s part of the package. The cardinal ordered it, and that’s all he knows.”

“I don’t like it, James.”

“Noted. What else?”

“D’Artagnan. He’s not gay. Not even bisexual, according to Constance. They used to have a thing, she said, when her marriage was falling apart. They’re very good friends.”

“Has she not seen how the boy looks at Athos? You don’t even look at me like that, and I’m sleeping with you.”

Q rolled his eyes a little. “We’re not in love, Bond. It’s merely a mutually satisfying arrangement. With d’Artagnan, it’s hero worship. He might be able to fool Milady if Athos was undercover with him, but it’s you. And none of them particularly took to you, did they?”

“No one ever particularly does, or haven’t you noticed?”

“Not even people posing as your lover?”

“Not usually, no. I think he’ll be fine, and we’ll have time to practice. Want to watch?”

Q’s lips quirked ever so slightly. Bond doubted it was in distaste. “Some other time, perhaps.”

“And your other concerns? Equipment? Skills? Can the boy handle the tech as well as Athos claimed?”

“I’m sure that will be fine. I’ve given Constance earwigs and our latest trackers, though I can’t decide yet what beacons to send you out with for the attack on Rochefort’s headquarters.”

“Fair enough.”

“Skills, I have no issue with on the surface. But there’s one thing not in our briefing. Athos is an alcoholic. Been dry for a couple of years, Constance said, but before that, he was a mess. Never compromised a mission because of it, but when he wasn’t on one, he regularly drank heavily enough to black out.”

Bond glanced at the drink in his hand. “Not necessarily a problem. When did he stop?”

“Around the time d’Artagnan joined their team, apparently. Perhaps the responsibility for someone so young and inexperienced made him get his act together. The others know how to handle Athos in his cups, she said.”

“Chatty woman.”

Q actually smiled. “She’s nice. At one point she started to give me a shovel talk, until she realised to whom she was speaking.”

“Protective of her boys?”

“Goes with the job,” Q said, the glasses hiding his emotions, but Bond could guess. “Aren’t you worried at all? You don’t do joint missions. Your lack of any ability to work with a team is legendary.”

“You don’t know everything about me, Q, however much you flatter yourself. Now I suggest you shower before the meal arrives, because I plan to fuck you into the mattress right after we eat, so you can have an early night and catch your train back to London all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Sound all right to you?”

Q’s green eyes glinted behind his glasses. “Perfectly, 007.”


	2. Chapter 2

Bond checked out from their hotel at ten o’clock, long after Q had left to catch his seven forty-five train back, and headed straight to DGSE headquarters. From now on, he would be embedded with Athos’s team until the end of the mission, and speak to Q only electronically, if at all. Constance, not Bond, would liaise with Q over equipment issue and identity papers. He was there primarily for his skills as a seducer, and later as an assassin, though why they needed another with Aramis and Porthos on the team, he wasn’t sure. He did bring a personal knowledge of SPECTRE, though he could write what he knew about the organisation as it stood at present on a single side of foolscap. Most likely he was there to make sure Athos didn’t choke and so Six could claim some of the credit. Directors of security agencies were always having pissing matches with each other, and it was up to the agents to avoid being sprinkled with urine as best they could.

Though the conference room in which they had all first met was Athos’s team’s _de facto_ war room, they had arranged to meet Bond in the café again. Bond took one look at d’Artagnan, and groaned. “Why? Why did you do that?”

The boy had shaved and had a haircut. Without the stubble and longer hair, he looked about sixteen. “Something wrong, commander?”

“You’re supposed to look like my toy boy. Not an _actual_ boy. Who’s going to believe you’re a genius chemist when you look as if you haven’t even sat your baccalaureate?”

“I sat mine at sixteen, commander. I don’t look _that_ young.”

“You do,” Athos murmured, his lips twitching. “Commander, when he’s clothed correctly, he’ll look older. And his voice _has_ broken. More or less.” D’Artagnan gave his boss a dirty look for that. “He knows his chemistry too.”

“Fine, but if I’m arrested when I turn up at this hotel with someone who looks thirty years younger than me....”

“Did you get into trouble for sharing a room with Monsieur Q then?” Aramis asked.

“Q is not a _child_.”

“Neither am I, so get over it,” d’Artagnan said. “I told you, this isn’t my first time undercover.”

“Where were you placed before? In a high school?”

“So glad his eminence decided to let us have the example of English maturity before us,” Athos said. “Enough, the pair of you.”

“Have you heard any more from Milady?” Bond asked him.

“Only that she will contact you at some point in the next twenty-four hours on the number we’ve set up. If you don’t hear, she’s smelled a rat. That’s why we’re not doing this ourselves. She’d suspect a Frenchman immediately.”

“If she’s as smart as you say, she’ll be suspicious anyway. How often do people want to work with Rochefort?”

“Quite a few,” said Aramis. “Surprisingly, since no one has a good word to say for the man as a person. But he has money, contacts, and he’s in with SPECTRE. Or he was. Things are a little messy there, as you know.”

“Somewhat,” Bond agreed.

“So Rochefort might be looking for alternative partners as a backup plan. He can always use good chemists, and you are going to offer them to him in exchange for more contacts and supply routes. Of course there’s nothing to stop him killing you after you’ve made an agreement, but we don’t care what he plans to do after that.”

“Because he’s gonna be _dead_ ,” Porthos said, grinning. “And good riddance to the bastard.” He saw Bond looking at him. “Seen what chemical weapons did in Syria. That ain’t war.”

“You’re aware both our countries have sold chemical warfare methods and technology to Iraq and other countries?”

“Still ain’t right.” Porthos’s grin had changed to a snarl now.

“Gentlemen, leave the politics for another time,” Athos said, sounding as if this was a line he often had to trot out. “D’Artagnan, the commander wants to check out your wardrobe, so let him do that now so Constance has a chance to make any changes he requires.”

“What the hell could be wrong with my clothes?” d’Artagnan asked, eyes flashing with anger.

“Everything,” Bond said. “Or nothing. You have a problem with my checking out the equipment?”

“S’long as that’s all you check out, mate.”

“Remember you’re playing my lover.”

“Playing, yeah. Not presuming.”

Bond looked at Athos who lifted his eyes in what looked very much like a prayer for divine mercy. “D’Artagnan? That was an order.”

“Yes, sir.” The boy still looked sulky as he stood. “Well, commander?”

“Coming, dear,” Bond said, and smirked at the glare he got in exchange.

D’Artagnan strode down the hall towards the lifts. “You got a problem with me doing this?” he demanded as they waited.

“Not unless you can’t drop the attitude and pretend you are in fact infatuated with me.”

“And how do I do that to monsieur’s satisfaction?”

“Look at me as if I’m Athos. That should do it.”

D’Artagnan turned to him with shock and rage in his eyes, but the angry words had to stay behind his teeth because the lift had arrived and they had to squeeze in among six other people. “Which floor?” Bond asked politely.

D’Artagnan hit a button and the lift moved, while he looked everywhere but at Bond’s face. Bond put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, daring him to make a fuss. To his slight surprise, d’Artagnan didn’t, although he slipped out neatly from under his hand when the doors opened on their floor.

Constance was expecting them. “Very nice suit, commander,” she said. “Tom Ford, yes?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I thought so. Charles, follow Micheline. She has your outfit.”

While the boy was changing, Constance gave Bond their fake ID documents and a phone. “This is the number she’s been using to contact Monsieur Healy. You have a Presidential suite booked at the George V hotel, which is where she says she’ll meet you. You, d’Artagnan and Aramis will wear these earpieces which also act as bluetooth headsets for your phones which is what you’ll say they’re for, if she questions you. Aramis will be ready to move as soon as you need him. If you need him, of course. You’ll carry your own weapon, befitting a man in your position. D’Artagnan too. She’s known to prefer knives for her assassinations, just so you know.”

“Thank you.”

“Once one of you goes upstairs with her, we’ll lock her door, in case she tries to take you back there. That’ll allow you to sweep her back to yours.”

“You’ve thought of everything,” Bond said, and she smiled.

“Just doing my job. Ah, and here is d’Artagnan. Come and show us, Charles.”

Constance had chosen very well. A bolero style tan leather jacket over a white linen shirt with high-waisted trousers showed d’Artagnan’s body off beautifully. Pierre Corthay shoes, if Bond wasn’t mistaken. Athos had been right— d’Artagnan now looked much more his age.

“What do you think?” Constance asked.

“The clothes are good. That earring’s fake, get rid of it.”

“What difference does it make?” d’Artagnan demanded.

“Because she’ll know it’s not a real diamond. Get a real one or lose it. That bracelet isn’t subtle enough. Make it a nice watch, the best you can afford. Otherwise, leave your wrists bare.”

Constance’s expression hinted at intense irritation. “Anything else?”

“No, that’s fine. Don’t shave again,” Bond told d’Artagnan. “And have someone tidy your eyebrows and give you a manicure.”

“What?”

“Leave it to me, Charles,” Constance said, taking him by the arm. “Give me two hours, commander.”

“I’ll want to check again.”

“Like hell,” d’Artagnan said, forcing Constance to stop while he turned to glare at Bond. “Are you insulting her work?”

“I’m not insulting anyone. But if you can’t cope, let’s abort the mission, or let me do it alone. I’m not spending the rest of the day quarrelling. Let me know when you’re done, quartermaster,” Bond said, nodding at her and sweeping past the two of them. And he thought Q was argumentative at times. Bloody Christ on a bike.

He could really do with a drink, but he didn’t dare leave the building and he didn’t fancy the café downstairs. There must be somewhere he could at least have a fag.

“Commander? Finished already?”

Athos, walking towards him along the corrider. “Some minor adjustments in d’Artagnan’s kit, that’s all. Is there somewhere I can smoke?”

“Come with me.”

There was a terrace at the rear of the building, screened by another wing’s wall. Butts on the floor and an overflowing ashtray gave way its own real attraction to visitors. “Not the most salubrious location, but needs must,” Athos said, pulling his own packet out and offering them to Bond. He accepted one and a light. He lit up and inhaled. “Christ,” he said, breathing out the smoke.

“You really needed that.”

“Your boy is fighting me every step of the way on this. I wish I’d had my shots before he had a chance to sink his little kitten teeth into me.”

Athos smiled a little. “I don’t see why you should get special treatment, commander. We’ve all had his claws in us, however accidentally. He won’t let you down, I promise.”

“Not your arse on the line if he does, is it now?”

“Whatever he thinks of you, he wouldn’t behave irresponsibly and disgrace our team,” Athos said. “He could be the best of us, given time.”

“We don’t have time. It’s going down tonight.”

“He’ll be fine. He’s never let me down yet.”

“I doubt he behaves like this towards you....” Athos was smiling slightly, which for him was the equivalent of one of Porthos’s belly laughs. “What’s so funny?”

“I was just remembering him when we met, him all piss and vinegar. Treville recruited him, put him on my team three years ago. We argued all the time, until he learned to take our humour and my command. So I do know what you’re dealing with there. I also know he’ll be fine. Trust me.”

“Don’t have much choice, do I? I don’t like working with others on something like this. Too many things are out of my control.”

Athos raised an eyebrow. “And I don’t like working on my own because I know how many skills I lack personally. Perhaps you antagonised his eminence in another life.”

“Perhaps the cardinal is poking M in the eye and using me as the stick.”

“It’s possible. Bond...it bears repeating, but Milady is a very dangerous woman. She has a kill list nearly as long as yours, in less time. I’m not worried about you, but d’Artagnan hasn’t come up against someone like her before.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll look after your boy, Athos.”

“I hope so.” He stamped out his cigarette. “I should go back. Is there somewhere you can rest while you’re waiting?”

“Not really.”

“Then let me show you my office. I won’t be there for most of the day, and you’ll have some privacy. What time will you leave for the hotel?”

“Five, I thought. Unless she calls sooner.”

“She won’t. You have the afternoon free. Shame you’re in such a nice suit or I’d have suggested sparring with Porthos as a way to spend the time.”

Bond grinned. “Sadly, I would have to refuse. I need to keep my pretty looks for Milady.”

“Your sacrifice is appreciated, monsieur. This way.”

⚜-☓ -⚜-☓ -⚜

By the time Constance let Bond know that d’Artagnan was ready for inspection, the boy had calmed down. “Excellent,” Bond said, checking him again. “Underwear, socks, all designer?”

“I even used designer tweezers on him,” Constance said, and d’Artagnan grinned. His eyebrows had only been subtly tidied but it all helped to give a good impression. And now the stud in his ear was real.

“Then that’s perfect.” Bond walked behind d’Artagnan and put his hands on his shoulders, deliberately getting up in his space. The boy didn’t flinch, and even relaxed into the touch. “Good.” He walked in front of him, and put his fingers under d’Artagnan’s chin, turning him this way and that.

“Want to inspect my teeth too?” d’Artagnan said, but cheekily, not angrily.

“Why, are you planning to use your mouth?”

“Why, monsieur, my mouth is my best feature.”

Constance burst out laughing. “You’re killing me, Charles.”

“Often, madame.” The kid did have a lovely smile.

“You’ll do,” Bond said, making sure he infused the words with approval. “Athos says you’ve never let him down.”

“I won’t let you down either.”

“Then let’s have lunch. Madame too, if you have time?”

“Goodness no. I have too much to do.” She kissed d’Artagnan on the cheek. “Good luck.”

“Nothing for me?” Bond asked.

She grinned. “You have the luck of the devil, always. Or so Monsieur Q assures me.”

Having lunch with his ‘lover’ reassured Bond that d’Artagnan knew enough manners for the job, and d’Artagnan told him that he’d spent three solid hours with their in-house scientists going over the bait formula and its claimed properties, as well as nerve agents generally and other topics Milady might throw at him. “Made me glad I studied physics and maths.”

“So no chemistry? Athos said—”

“I did chemistry at high school and a couple of units at University, and have done my reading since.”

“All right. Also, I’m planning to stick to English. Is that okay with you?”

“I’m good with that,” d’Artagnan answered in excellent, American-flavoured English. “We met in France, but I work in Italy.”

“Correct.”

“This is mad,” he said, still grinning at Bond.

“It is, rather. But I’ve seen much madder.”

“Like?”

So Bond regaled d’Artagnan with tales of plans to steal whole countries’ worth of water, a psycho so determined to win at poker he poisoned opponents with digitalis, and before his time, cold war villains who built their own secret missile sites, giant lasers, and killer satellites, who smuggled gold in the bodywork of their cars, and planned to distribute heroin through chain restaurants.

D’Artagnan listened with varying amounts of amusement and open-mouthed disbelief, and when Bond finished by saying, “Of course, I haven’t even mentioned the other ways people have tried to kill me personally, including my own boss telling my colleague to shoot me to take out the villain,” he huffed out a breath in pure shock.

“Really?”

“Really. I’ll show you the scar later if you’re a good boy.”

“No thanks.” But d’Artagnan’s little smirk told Bond he wasn’t offended. Someone had given him a _good_ talking to.

⚜-☓ -⚜-☓ -⚜

With no other instructions from Milady, Bond and D’Artagnan left by a luxury car service from La Piscine at four thirty, arriving at the George V hotel just before five. D’Artagnan carried the bags, and Bond kept a proprietary hand on his back as they checked in and headed to the lifts.

D’Artagnan opened the door, walked in and stopped dead. “Oh, my God. This is ours?”

“Every square metre, for the night at least.”

“And you live like this all the time?”

“Oh, of course. I have caviar for breakfast and the milk of endangered species on my organic oats.” D’Artagnan turned and stared at Bond, mouth open. “All on the MI6 budget, of course.”

The boy grinned. “You had me going there. But still, my _God_.”

While D’Artagnan was checking out the beds, Bond was checking his gun. Satisfied it had not jammed or deteriorated in the thirty minutes since he left the DGSE headquarters, he set out the duplicate kits of devices one of them would be planting on Milady, if all went to plan.

“This is bigger than my mother’s house!”

“Probablly cost nearly as much too. Settle down, relax. We could be here for hours, or she could call in the next five minutes. Order food or coffee if you want, but be ready to go with fifteen minutes’ notice.”

“Why fifteen?”

“Enough time for a shower, shave and a wank.”

“Service not included, monsieur.”

Bond rolled his eyes. “Go away.”

“Of course. I think I’ll shower again.”

Not a bad idea, since they needed to be as fresh and presentable as possible, and it would keep the boy busy for a bit. He hung up his jacket and took off his tie. Hmmm, a shower might be a good idea for him too.

Freshened up, he ordered coffee. D’Artagnan wandered in wearing a hotel bathrobe. “Indecent,” he said, snuggling into the collar.

“How the super-rich live.”

“I wouldn’t know, would I? Even Athos isn’t _that_ wealthy.”

“Oh?” Bond said, as if he couldn’t guess. “Well off, is he?”

“You can ask him when you see him.” D’Artagnan closed off again. “Any of that for me?”

It was seven before Athos messaged him.

_Known alias Anne, Lady de Winter, just checked in._

Dumas again? Bond messaged back. _Understood_.

“Our woman’s in the hotel,” Bond said to D’Artagnan, then pressed his earpiece. “Aramis?”

“All good. I’m in a café down from the hotel. Athos has her room number, and Constance is in the hotel system.”

“Understood. Bond out.”

Half an hour later, ‘Healy’s’ phone pinged. _Meet me in twenty at La Galerie. Ask for de Winter._

 _Looking forward to it_ , Bond replied. “Gentleman, we’re on. Twenty minutes, La Galerie.”

Confirmations came in from Aramis and Athos, and d’Artagnan nodded, rising to finish dressing. Bond put his tie back on and smoothed his jacket. His hair was fine, and he cleaned his teeth.

“Remember, don’t drink too much, and absolutely nothing you’ve not had in your hand from the start.”

“Yeah, yeah, granddad,” d’Artagnan muttered. He’d learn the hard way if he hadn’t paid attention, Bond thought.

D’Artagnan leaned into him as Bond kept his hand on him through the foyer, and gave him one or two adoring looks that would have convinced Bond the boy was smitten with him, if he hadn’t know the opposite was true. The kid kept it up as Bond asked for Milady at the Bar desk, and the maître’d pointed her out.

She was dressed in blue silk and a white cashmere shawl that did nothing to cover her attractive décolletage. “Ms de Winter, delighted to meet you,” Bond said in English, kissing her hand.

She smiled at him, luscious red lips and large green eyes tempting him as much as her low voice. “Mr Healy. I wasn’t aware we would be graced by a third this evening.” She didn’t seem hostile, but he doubted she ever let her true emotions show. She wasn’t beautiful in a conventional way, but she had a natural sensuality that she exploited without looking cheap. He appreciated the artistry, and wondered how much of it was training and how much sheer talent.

“Ah, this is Charles, my _friend_.” He held d’Artagnan close to make it clear what kind of friend he meant. “He’ll handle any technical questions you might have.” He signalled the waiter. “Another of what the lady is having, a vodka martini for me, and a sauvignon blanc for you, Charles?”

“Thank you, James,” D’Artagnan breathed, kissing his cheek and giving Milady a look of wide-eyed curiosity. Bond sat down next to her, D’Artagnan on the other side of him.

“So, Mr Healy—”

“Please, call me James.”

“Then, James, my employer thinks there might be merit in pursuing an alliance with you, your contacts in exchange for his manufacturing capacity. You mentioned a sweetener?”

“Yes, of course. Charles?”

D’Artagnan opened the slim case he’d brought with him and extracted the document copies which James handed to her. “It’s something Charles came up with himself, clever boy. An agent with multiple routes of delivery, and selective persistence.”

She scanned the summary. “And you’re just going to give me the formula tonight?”

“All for free, my darling.”

She smiled. “But?”

“But not the formula for the antidote which friendly agents can use in advance, with an activity of three months after inoculation.”

Her eyes glittered. _Hooked_ , Bond thought. “Sounds too good to be true,” she said. “How rigorously have you tested this?”

Bond stroked d’Artagnan’s arm. “Charles, my pet, this is your bit.”

D’Artagnan launched into their prepared explanations of the testing supposedly carried out, and showed Milady the results on the printout. “Human subjects?” she asked when he was done.

“Of course not, that would be _completely_ immoral,” Bond said with a smirk.

She smiled back. “Oh, of course.”

“But if we _had_ done such testing, it would have shown our results stand.”

“I’m sure they would.”

She tucked the papers away in her own case. “Were you planning to dine here tonight, James?”

“I wasn’t sure if I would get a better offer. I hoped so.”

She leaned in. “Lose the kid,” she breathed against his ear. “I’ll make it worth your while if you know what to do with a woman.”

Bond turned his head. “Can you amuse yourself for a few hours, Charles? I’ll see you in the morning.”

D’Artagnan pouted. “But what will I do with myself?”

“Have dinner? Drink, gamble? I don’t care. Whatever you like. I’ll be busy. I’ll call you when I’m free.”

“Okay,” d’Artagnan said sulkily, then left, his back stiff with wounded pride. _Perfect_.

Bond smiled at Milady. “Sorry, you were saying, my darling?”

“Your pet will be upset with you.”

“He knows that if your employer likes our proposal, he’ll be moving up in the world. Way up. And it’ll teach him not to be clingy.”

“Yes, it will. Would it be terribly annoying if I said I wasn’t hungry and suggested we go to my room?”

“Not annoying at all, darling. Though I _am_ staying in a rather nice suite.”

“So am I.”

Bond stood and took her hand. “Lead the way.”

Five minutes later she frowned at the key card and the door lock to her room. “Damn, it’s not working. I’ll have to go down and have it replaced.”

Bond put his arm around her shoulders. “Why bother when my room’s so close? We can call the manager from there.”

“Of course.” She turned and kissed him. “Which way?”

Bond ordered champagne and caviar, while she studied the documents again sitting on the sofa. “You could sell this formula for a fortune on the open market, you realise.”

“And I will, if your employer isn’t interested. I’d rather work with him than not, though. Especially now I know what lovely taste in employees he has.”

“Yours isn’t bad either. Pity he’s so young.”

“Young and inexperienced. Or he was. Why are we talking about him?” Bond kissed her until she was lying flat on the sofa under him.

“I have no idea.” She returned his embraces with convincing enthusiasm, and Bond slipped into the role of lover like a well-worn glove.

⚜-☓ -⚜-☓ -⚜

He heard her leave an hour and a half later, more than enough time for D’Artagnan or Aramis to fit the bugs and trackers.

 _She’s gone back to her room_ , he texted Athos.

_A is back at base. D successful, eating dinner now._

_Tell him to wait for my all clear._

Bond gave her half an hour, then messaged D’Artagnan.

_You can return when you’re ready_

_Ok brb_

Bond had to think what ‘brb’ meant until he recalled it stood for ‘be right back’. _Kids._

By the time he’d showered again, d’Artagnan was back. “So it worked.”

“So it did. Any problems?”

“Not a one. You think she fell for the deal?”

“Doesn’t matter since ‘Healy’ isn’t going to follow up on it. Poor chap will have to come to a sticky end, I suppose.”

“And we spent all that time setting it up. Oh well. What now?”

“We get some sleep. Stay in character, she might come back.”

D’Artagnan blinked innocently. “Pardon me, monsieur, but how does one sleep in character?”

“Go away, d’Artagnan.”


	3. Chapter 3

Bond woke next morning when d’Artagnan threw his bedroom door open. “She’s gone. Athos just called me. She’s on her way to the airport.”

Seven o’clock. Bond climbed out of bed, not caring if the boy got an eyeful, and went to the dresser to fetch clean underwear. On top of his clothes he found a folded piece of paper, on which lay a little nosegay of dried blue flowers. _À bientôt, Monsieur Bond_. It was signed with a small flower drawing, nothing else.

 _Bugger_. “She made me,” Bond said, holding up the note. He checked ‘Healy’s’ phone. Nothing from her.

“Fuck.” D’Artagnan ran his hand through his hair. “We wasted our time then.”

“Not necessarily. Call Athos. I need to speak to him.”

D’Artagnan did as requested, while Bond got dressed properly. “Here.” D’Artagnan handed him the phone.

“Athos? She knows who I am. Are the trackers still working?”

“No. She found them all.”

“What about the trace program?”

“No data being received now, but we’ll have to wait for her to open the laptop again.”

“So it’s possible she didn’t notice it.”

“I suppose. You and d’Artagnan should return to base regardless. I’ll keep monitoring.”

Bond closed the call. “You don’t have to pretend any more. We’re going back to your HQ.”

“Thank fuck for that.” D’Artagnan’s now neatly shaped eyebrows narrowed. “How did she know?”

“Who knows?” And _when_ did she know, Bond wondered. “For now, we’re finished. Unless you want breakfast first, we’re leaving as soon as you’re ready.”

“I’m done.” He looked Bond up and down. “Was she any good?”

“You want me to tell you what Athos’s wife was like in bed? Do you want him to know you want to know that?”

D’Artagnan flushed. “No. Don’t say anything.” He stalked back into his room, slamming the door behind him. Bond grinned. _So easy_.

⚜-☓ -⚜-☓ -⚜

Fifteen minutes later they were downstairs and checked out. Keeping in character, d’Artagnan carried their overnight bags, but once they were in the taxi, he studiously ignored Bond as they drove back to the DGSE headquarters. Bond checked his personal phone but refrained from reporting to Q. He wanted to have the full picture before he gave Six the bad news.

Just as they approached La Piscine, d’Artagnan’s phone beeped. He read the message and grinned. “She’s at the airport. The trace is working.”

“So, not a total failure then.”

“No thanks to you, monsieur.”

 _Ungrateful pup_. He didn’t much care what the boy thought, but he urgently needed an answer to how Milady had made him. There were only two possibilities and he only liked one of them.

Aramis was waiting for them after Security had cleared them and issued Bond with visitor credentials. He smiled at them both, but mainly for d’Artagnan’s benefit, Bond thought. “This way,” he said, heading to the lifts. “Porthos is asleep, d’Artagnan. He monitored the security cameras all night.”

“Poor sod,” d’Artagnan said with feeling. “Usually it’s me though.”

Aramis laughed and gripped d’Artagnan’s neck in friendly fashion. “One has to make sacrifices on missions. You know that.”

Athos stood as they entered the conference room _cum_ planning room. His gaze slid past Bond and onto d’Artagnan, and as the boy met his eyes, gave the tiniest of nods. “Gentlemen, have a seat. Commander, report.”

“We met up, she wanted to ditch my companion, so d’Artagnan did the necessary while I entertained her in my room.” Athos’s eyes were like cold chips of green agate, and his expression worthy of Easter Island. “I had no idea she’d broken my cover until d’Artagnan woke me and I found this by the bed.” Bond handed over the nosegay and the note. Athos made no attempt to take either, though he read the message. “Are the flowers significant in some way?”

“Just her calling card. What went wrong?”

“Either she recognised me or searched for me on a facial recognition database that Q hasn’t managed to wipe, or...you have a mole.”

D’Artagnan glared. “Are you accusing us—?”

Athos held up a hand and the boy shut up, though his glare could melt steel. “It’s possible,” he said, Aramis nodding beside him. “But at which end?”

“You tell me.”

“Since MI6 was known to be harbouring SPECTRE agents, there’s no reason to assume it’s us.”

“On the other hand, tell me again how Milady began her career?”

Athos clenched his fist, and then, not content with that show of anger, slammed it down on the table. He rose and walked out. D’Artagnan hissed at Bond like an offended cat and followed his leader out of the room.

Aramis remained and shook his head. “Don’t care who you offend, do you, Commander Bond?”

“Is it my fault that the woman’s husband was assigned to this? The point remains. It could be either side. Or none at all. I need to report to London. Do I tell them we’re proceeding or not?”

“Not my call. Not his either. Treville will let us know when he’s had a chance to assess. Are you in a hurry to get back to London?”

“No, but I’m not exactly needed here, or at all. Even if we succeed in finding the base, you lot can surely take it out on your own.”

“I think his eminence wants MI6 to have what our American friends call ‘skin in the game’, commander. Your expertise would be welcome if you can be spared.”

“So far as I know I can. I’ll call Q and tell him what’s going on, and that we’re waiting on a decision.”

“As you wish. When you’re done, I’ll show you somewhere you can bunk for a couple of days, if necessary.” He stood. “I’ll give you some privacy. I’ll come back in ten minutes.”

“Thank you.”

For all that it was only just after seven am in London, Q answered as if he had been waiting for the call, which he undoubtedly had. “Congratulations on the trace working,” he said.

“Never mind that.” Bond told him about the note and flowers. “And now the French are swearing there couldn’t be a mole on _their_ side.”

“The most likely answer is that they don’t, and we don’t, 007. Milady probably had access to Blofeld’s records, or to someone who did—and she sounds like a person to never miss an opportunity to learn more about potential opponents. We don’t know for sure she wasn’t involved with someone who was actively trying to kill you on Blofeld’s orders. M thought this was a risk.”

“Then why the hell was I given this mission?”

“Because you’re the best.” Bond’s anger subsided immediately. “But now we know not to put you on anything possibly related to SPECTRE. A shame, but there you have it.”

Q’s matter-of-fact tone was a balm on Bond’s soul. “Treville hasn’t decided if he wants to go ahead with the mission, or if he wants me to be on it.”

He heard Q tapping a keyboard, and waited. “That’s a yes on both points. He’s spoken to M, and M’s just messaged me. For security reasons they don’t want any more operatives briefed on this than we have already. You wait in Paris until the location is positively identified, or a week, whichever comes first. You can be accommodated with them, unless you prefer a hotel. Your expense though.”

“I’ll wait and see, shall I?”

“How did our young tech perform?”

“Perfectly, despite...certain personality differences.”

Q’s voice dropped low. “James, are you not playing well with the other children again?”

“Bugger off,” Bond said, laughing. “The French have always hated us, you know that.”

“Says the man with a French grandmother, to a man with a French mother. I’ll have more clothes couriered to you?”

“Don’t bother. I’m sure Constance can outfit me. I’ll let you know.”

“Jolly good. Get some rest, 007. Excellent work, despite the you know what.”

“Thanks, Q.”

Bond closed the call, feeling a lot less rattled than he had before. It was gratifying to be still wanted on this French mission though for the life of him, he couldn’t see why he, or any other double-oh, was needed.

“Ours is not to reason why,” he murmured.

Sticking his head out of the door, he found Aramis leaning on the wall, looking at his phone. “All done. And apparently I’m still on.”

“Athos just messaged me. So, welcome to the team, however temporarily, commander.”

“Should you not call me James now?”

“Certainly I should, 007.” But Aramis’s smile was too charming to take offence to his words. “This way. We’re off until the base is located, or Treville decrees it a loss.”

The accommodation was a small dormitory near the headquarters building. “You can use Porthos’s until one is set up for you this afternoon.”

“Isn’t he asleep in it himself?”

Aramis stroked his moustache. “Well, no, he’s in my bed. Usually is.” His dark brown eyes held a question. Would Bond care if they were together?

“Fine by me. I just hope his sheets are clean.”

Aramis relaxed, clapping his hand on Bond’s shoulder. “Untouched, I guarantee.”

He let Bond into a small second floor room which was as neat and tidy as a sailor’s. “Breakfast in the canteen downstairs, and there’s a laundry in the basement if you need it. I’ll come fetch you for lunch, is that okay? We usually eat together.”

“I’m not sure Athos and d’Artagnan would like that.”

“They’ll get over it, James. Athos is always a bit of a moody bastard, and d’Artagnan could do with cooling down.”

“Yes, he could. Thanks, René.”

Aramis held up a finger. “I prefer Aramis, actually. It feels more like me than my real name. The others are the same.”

“Then thank you, Aramis.”

“See you in a few hours.”

Bond undressed and hung up his suit, shirt and tie. He showered and got dressed again, and went in search of coffee and breakfast. Q had given him the contact information for Constance and the other members of the French team, so he messaged her and asked if she could supply more clothes for him. She suggested he come to her section when he was ready, so he wandered back to the main building and found the quartermaster division again.

“Good morning, Monsieur Bond,” she said when he was shown to her office.

“Call me James, please.”

“Very well. Ah, thank you,” she added as he handed over his fake ‘James Healy’ credentials and phone. “So you’ll spending a few days with us, I hear.” She typed on her computer while speaking to him.

“Apparently, yes.”

“That will please Charles so much,” she said, smiling wryly.

“He’s a bit of a firebrand, isn’t he? I thought he was about to challenge me to a duel, although if he wants to imitate his namesake, I have to admit it’s been a long time since I fenced.”

“Oh no, he doesn’t fight with a sword, James. But he boxes, and he’s a very effective and dirty martial arts fighter. He could take you easily.”

“I doubt that.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really, monsieur? He has seven centimetres and twenty years on you.” James merely looked at her. He knew his strengths. “Anyway, the captain doesn’t like his people fighting so don’t let Charles goad you into it.”

“The ‘captain’?”

“Treville. You know, from the books?”

“Yes, of course, the noble Captain de Tréville. I’d forgotten.”

“The codenames are more apt than you can imagine,” she said. There was a knock at her office door. “Ah, Micheline, thank you.” The woman laid a pile of clothes on Constance’s desk, and departed with a nod to her boss.

“Hang on, you didn’t even measure me,” Bond said as Constance pushed them over to him. Nonetheless, the shirts and trousers—unmarked fatigues—were exactly his size. She’d also added underwear and socks of the correct sizes.

“What can I say, it’s a gift,” she said, smirking a little. “Do you need anything else?”

“No, that’s ample, thank you.”

“Good. James, if you would avoid antagonising Athos, I would count it a special favour. He’s an old and dear friend as well as a colleague, and the business with his wife is an open and agonising wound. We all knew her, and he was very much in love. It broke him when she betrayed us.”

“Maybe he should just get over it.”

Her blue eyes grew cold. “Your compassion does you proud, monsieur.”

“Sorry. Perhaps I’m being hard on him.”

“You are. Antagonising Charles is also stupid because upsetting him, upsets the whole team. The others are older and can deal with you. He’s young, sweet, and too kind for his own good.”

Bond resisted the temptation to say that d’Artagnan should also harden up. “He’s offended by my very presence. I can’t help it if he’s crushing on his boss and oversensitive to slights in that direction.”

“You can indeed ‘help’ it. You choose not to.” She sighed. “He’s not like your Q, able to roll with the insults and the banter. Not from you. But he’s brave and clever and if you need someone at your side in your worst hour, he will be there, even for you. So stop being a typical English prick, monsieur Bond.”

“I’m Scottish, actually.”

She rolled her eyes in a way Bond had seen from Moneypenny a hundred times. “And they say you have charm. We’re done for now, James.” She indicated the door with a nod of her head. “Let me know if those clothes chafe anything other than your ego.”

“But of course, Madame Constance.”

⚜-☓ -⚜-☓ -⚜

Bond kept to himself but when Aramis came to collect him for lunch, he went along. He would have days if not longer with these people, and he needed to keep the connections greased.

Aramis and Porthos were friendly enough over the meal. D’Artagnan didn’t say a word to him, and Athos said almost nothing. But as they were drinking a final cup of execrable coffee, Athos cleared his throat. “Since we have time to kill, possibly several days while we wait for a location, we should keep sharp. Bond, now you don’t have to preserve your pretty face, perhaps you fancy that spar with Porthos?”

D’Artagnan smiled for the first time since he’d sat down. Bond was being dared. “Really?”

“Heard from Monsieur Q you had some moves, so why not?” Porthos said, grinning from ear to ear.

“All right. I’ll try to go easy on you,” Bond said. Aramis smirked, and Athos seemed to be holding back actual laughter.

The mats were set up in the building’s gym. Porthos, stripped down to his vest and trousers, was even more imposing than when fully dressed. D’Artagnan’s lips pursed when he saw the scars on Bond’s body, but he said nothing. Bond didn’t expect any of them to pull their punches on account of his condition or age.

Aramis acted as referee. Porthos came charging across the mat the second Aramis told them to go. Good thing that, for once, Bond wasn’t nursing cracked ribs.

He knew he’d surprise Porthos. Taller opponents consistently underestimated him, which gave him an advantage, and he had nothing to learn from anyone about dirty tricks. Still, the bigger guy got in some solid punches and kicks, and Bond would be carrying bruises for a good fortnight. Since it wasn’t to the death, and using impromptu weapons went against the spirit of a spar, Porthos eventually won, but it took him ten minutes, and he was as tired and sweat-drenched as Bond by the end of it.

Porthos held out his hand and helped Bond to stand after Bond conceded. He clapped Bond carefully on the shoulder. “Pretty good. I reckon I might be dead if that had been for real.”

“One of us would have been, for sure.”

Aramis tossed Bond a towel and offered a water bottle which Bond accepted as he sat on a bench at the side. On the whole, he was rather glad it hadn’t been for real.

“Not bad,” Athos said, watching with arms folded at the other side of the mat.

“Now you take him on,” Bond said.

Porthos held up a hand. “Not me, not right now.”

“Oh ho, commander, you managed to wear him out. Not many can claim that,” Aramis said, stroking his moustache and smiling. “D’Artagnan, then. You and Athos?”

“I’m up for it. Boss?”

“I notice Aramis isn’t offering his own ribs for punishment,” Athos said, stripping off his t-shirt.

“I’ll take on the winner,” his second said. “Unless you want me to invite Constance down here?”

“You may as well,” d’Artagnan said. “She said she was getting rusty.”

“Your quartermaster spars with you?” Bond asked, trying to imagine Q with anyone but him.

“Spars with, occasionally even beats,” d’Artagnan said with a grin.

“She only beats you because she likes you,” Porthos said. “And you’re her size.” D’Artagnan screwed up his face and gave his friend the finger.

D’Artagnan wasn’t particularly lightweight for a man. Athos was the surprise there, being the shortest of the four by about an inch or so, and with the slightest frame. He lacked Bond’s bulk and musculature, and the breadth of d’Artagnan’s shoulders. Although he was ex-military and presumably tougher than he looked, he was also nearly ten years older than his brash team mate. Bond was genuinely curious as to the outcome.

This time the fight was even longer and in some ways nastier, with d’Artagnan giving no quarter despite his fondness for his leader, and Athos fully as capable in the dirty tricks department as Porthos. The sparring went on and on until Aramis, perhaps fearing real injury, called time. “It’s a draw,” he said.

Athos shook d’Artagnan’s hand, and the two men embraced. D’Artagnan faced Bond with his arm still slung around Athos’s shoulder. “Well?”

“I think by his own terms, Aramis now has to fight you both.”

Athos shook his head, slipping out from under d’Artagnan’s arm. “That’s enough sparring for now. Bond, are you injured?”

“Bruises, nothing worse. Although I’d appreciate if we didn’t spar right before we head out wherever we end up going.”

“Agreed. I don’t heal as fast as I used to.” Bond appreciated a graceful out offered by a man twelve years his junior. “Let’s hit the showers, gentlemen.”

Bond discovered that Athos was a tough taskmaster, and hadn’t been joking about keeping sharp while they waited. At least half of each day was taken up with runs, group exercises, weight training and shadow boxing or martial arts practice. Bond, as a temporary member of the team, was not excused however much he protested he didn’t need this amount of training, as he had his own regime he’d used for years to good effect.

Complaining to Q only brought a short “Suck it up, 007.” Bond didn’t dare breathe a word of complaint to Moneypenny when she called him about a past mission’s paperwork. Even a double-oh was wise to avoid her sharp tongue.

So every morning Bond allowed Athos to flog the arse off him, and every lunchtime he ate with the others. He learned that Porthos had had an even more deprived childhood than Milady, and like her had used the military to get away from it. Aramis was a civilian EMT working with a [SMUR ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Emergency_medical_services_in_France)unit, and then with _Médicins sans Frontières_ , where he had met and become friends with Athos and Porthos in Lebanon. They had suggested he join the DGSE, which he had, discovering he had as great a talent with weapon handling and sharpshooting as he had with caring for the sick and injured. D’Artagnan had applied to join the DGSE after graduating from university at the age of twenty, and when Milady’s defection left Athos’s team short a member and broken in spirit, Treville had recruited the kid to the team.

At first Bond thought Treville had acted like a friend might in giving a kitten to a grieving widower, and perhaps that had been the original motivation. But the more he watched the four of them, he thought d’Artagnan’s role in healing the team owed more to his strengths than his perceived weaknesses. Even with their rough start, he stopped bridling at Bond’s sarcastic comments, and began to return them in the same spirit, same as the others. He allowed Porthos’s rough handling, and his rougher affection. He teased Aramis for his gentler side and unashamedly tested his harder nature in sparring. And with Athos, d’Artagnan seemed to know how to pop the bubble of misery with a word or a touch or a show of high spirits that tried his leader’s patience. Bond would have though it all a calculated act—he’d known those who could do it—except the warmth and kindness never slipped, and it always did, if you looked long enough and it was fake.

D’Artagnan was the kind of man who glued a team together at its centre, rather than wrapping it up in a net and holding it tight from the outside. Bond had never been that kind of a man, and had never wanted to be one or need one. He understood the value of such to a team, and the value of a team as tight as the one Athos led. But Bond didn’t need a team any more.

Four days later, Treville called them all to a meeting. Constance was there too, with Q joining them on a conference call. “Gentlemen, we have a location, in Gabon. Milady’s trace has led to a compound twenty kilometres from Libreville. There is a chemical production facility on the coast owned by Rochefort. Your mission will be to infiltrate that compound, find and kill Rochefort, and plant beacons to guide UAVs to destroy it. You will also infiltrate the factory and target the liquid hydrogen storage to create a catastrophic ‘industrial accident’. You’ll place beacons there so we can send UAVs as a backup if you fail to get into the facility. Athos, you and Commander Bond will target the compound, Aramis and Porthos the factory. d’Artagnan, you’ll go with whichever Athos deems the best fit.”

“Bond,” Q said, “the diplomatic situation in Gabon means this has to be handled with the least collateral damage possible, is that understood? The government there will support a story of an industrial accident but only if we keep the operation strictly limited to those two primary targets.”

“Yes, Q. The beacons?”

“Once you activate them, you have an hour window before the strike. Activate only after Rochefort is confirmed dead. We can’t rely on the aerial attack to kill him.”

“Why such a long window, Q?” Athos asked.

“I want both your teams well clear before the bombs hit. Bond tends to cut it a little fine at times. However we can arrange a launch on your signal if the beacons are lost or can’t be activated for some reason.”

“Q, you wound me.”

“I’m sure, but I’d rather not disintegrate you, 007.” The French team chuckled, and even Treville smiled.

“Will you be delivering the equipment yourself, Monsieur Q?” Constance asked.

“Unfortunately I won’t have that pleasure, madame. They’ll be sent in a diplomatic bag later today. If you have a shopping list, you better give it to me now.”

“Thank you, Q,” Treville said. “Athos?”

“I think d’Artagnan should go with us to the compound. It’ll be heavily guarded and another agent gives us a better chance of one of us getting and killing Rochefort.”

“Agreed. There’s another element I haven’t mentioned. The residential complex may well extend underground and we have no idea what else is going on there. That’s why we want it erased along with its owner.”

“And Milady? Still capture or kill?” Bond asked.

Treville nodded. “Kill only if necessary, of course. She’s not a priority but we would like to get our hands on her again.”

Bond glanced at Athos, who was doing his Easter Island impression again. Who knew what was going through his mind? Bond didn’t care so long as he didn’t mess up the mission.

“There’s a cleared area we can use for pick up five kilometres out from the compound. You’ll be parachuting in, Athos. Porthos, you and Aramis will collect a vehicle in Libreville, and meet up with Athos upon mission completion back at the pick up point.”

“Huh, so we have to hike through the jungle while Porthos gets a ride. Not fair,” d’Artagnan said, pouting. “He needs the exercise more than me.”

“Are you calling me fat, pup?”

“Well, now you mention it....”

Porthos made a grab for d’Artagnan, and the kid pretended to fight him off. “Gentlemen,” Athos said in a weary tone. “Sir, can we look at the satellite images?”

Treville put them up on the screen. “There’s not a lot of road traffic between the compound and the chemicals facility, but interestingly there have been two heavy transport deliveries to the compound from there since our first trace from Milady’s laptop. We suspect they’re not just ordinary domestic supplies.”

“Could he stockpiling chemical weapons in the compound?” Athos asked. “Is anyone crazy enough to live on top of that?”

“Rochefort could be. We don’t know. It could be that the compound is a delivery point, using the helipad. You can’t carry a lot that way, but with this kind of weapon, you don’t need to.”

“So he could be supplying militants in Gabon itself?” d’Artagnan asked.

“Or Congo.” Treville frowned. “D’Artagnan, if there’s a chance to grab computer data from the compound without endangering the primary objective, please do so. But our top priorities are to kill Rochefort, destroy the factory, and destroy that compound. Everything else is a bonus, so no grandstanding.”

“He means you, 007,” Q said.

“Whose side are you on, Q?”

“We’re all on the same side,” Constance said.

“You’ll be leaving tomorrow for our base in Gabon, and strike that evening. One more thing. While we don’t think that the commander was compromised by a leak from here or at MI6, the possibility remains that we do have a mole. So no chatter about where you’re going or what we’re doing, to anyone. Is that understood?”

A chorus of nods and muttered ‘Yes, sirs’ confirmed it was.

“Right then. Athos, Constance, with me. The rest of you can pack and prepare. Monsieur Q, thank you for your assistance.”

“You’re welcome, captain. Good luck, all of you. Bond?”

“Bring all my equipment back in one piece?”

“Bring yourself back in one piece and I’ll be happy. Q out.”

As they filed out of the room, leaving Treville, Athos and their quartermaster to continue their discussion, Aramis said to Bond, “your quartermaster seems very fond of you.”

“He just hates breaking in replacement double-ohs.”

“Yes, that must be tiresome.” Aramis’s kind brown eyes twinkled with mischief. “It’s been a while since I had to blow up a factory.”

“I do it every other week.”

“We're very boring compared to you. Hey, Porthos, I vote we send d’Artagnan for decent coffee at least once before we leave. All in favour?” Three hands were raised, d’Artagnan folded his arms. “Sorry, puppy, it’s carried.”

“The usual order then?” d’Artagnan asked.

“That’s right. All for one and one for all.”

Bond laughed. “And make sure mine is stirred, not shaken.”

D’Artagnan grinned. “Of course, 007.”


	4. Chapter 4

Twenty-seven hours later, at the French base in Libreville, the two teams were ready to go their separate ways. Aramis and Porthos departed by jeep, having exchanged clasped handshakes and gruff ‘bon courages’ with the other two, and nods to Bond.

Then he, Athos, and d’Artagnan boarded a small military plane for the drop off near Rochefort’s compound. He didn’t like night drops—too many things could go wrong compared to a daytime drop—but his companions were relaxed, though alert. The plan was to land about a kilometre from the compound and hike through the jungle. They were travelling light, the main burden being ammunition for the pistol and submachine gun they each carried. Q’s beacons were compact units, and any data d’Artagnan might gather could be loaded onto a small flash drive. They also carried ropes and grappling hooks.

They landed near the edge of a clearing surrounding a waterhole, frightening a small herd of buffalo, and headed quickly for the cover of the trees. Athos took point. “This way.”

Night vision goggles took them through the trees without difficulty. Closer to the compound, Q’s plans drawn up from the satellite images indicated a entrance from the service road used by supply vehicles and the heavier trucks spotted earlier in the week. The compound itself was on an artificial hill surrounding by twenty-metre high rock walls, rising to about thirty metres, and going down who knew how far.

“We should go in at the top,” Bond said, after his first good look at the target through a telescopic sight. “By the time we fight our way up from the bottom level, they’ll be onto us.”

“Agreed. I suggest we approach from here,” Athos indicated on the tablet map. “The trees are closer to the wall, and the helipad is on that side. Bond, do you want to take point on that?”

“Yes. D’Artagnan should cover our six, in case we’re spotted by a patrol. Okay?”

“Fine by me,” d’Artagnan said. “Do we want to go in now, or wait until most of them have gone to bed?”

It was twenty-two hundred hours. “Wait until midnight,” Bond suggested. “We can do a recce first.”

“Okay,” Athos said. He called Aramis on his radio. “Are you in position?”

“Affirmative, Athos.”

“We're going in at midnight. Wait until then to move.”

“Understood. Aramis out.”

Athos put his radio back on his belt. “D’Artagnan, keep watch, note the number and frequency of the patrols. Let us know of any movement into or out of the compound. 007 and I will check that perimeter and the access point. If we lose contact and we’re not back by twenty three thirty, tell Aramis to plant the beacons and get out. You head to the pick up point.”

“Understood. Don’t lose contact, boss.”

“I won’t, pup. Bond?”

Bond was on his own radio. “Q, we’re just about to check our way in. Have you gained access to their security cameras?”

“Yes, 007. I’m pleased to report Rochefort is in residence.”

“Good. We’ll want cameras and sensors on the southwest rampart near the helipad disabled at midnight.”

“Will do. The residential floor is level three, which is two floors down from the roof. Heavy security presence.”

“Of course.” Athos mouthed ‘Gas?’ at him. “Athos wants to know if you’ve located the gas containers at the factory.”

“Yes, and I’ve sent Aramis the directions from their position.”

“Good work, Q. 007 out.”

“I don’t know why we can’t just ask him to blow up a boiler in Rochefort’s face or have his toaster electrocute him, since he has this level of control,” Athos said.

“Don’t joke. He’s done worse.” In his pyjamas, even, Bond thought. “Nothing like the hands-on approach for complete certainty though, is there?”

“If we fail, at least he can bring down the bombs and wreak havoc.”

“Don’t say that, you’ll only encourage him.”

Athos smiled a little. “Let’s move.” A quick nod to d’Artagnan, and the man walked on. Bond fell in beside him.

The place reminded him of the Imperial palace in Tokyo, with the massive, nearly sheer walls. Guards were in position at the top all the way around, so knocking out the cameras wouldn’t be enough. He called Q and described the approach they planned. “Is there a blind spot?”

“Not that I can see, but I can create a diversion. How long do you need?”

“Fifteen minutes. Twenty for safety.”

“Give me five minutes to look at something. Q out.”

“One of us could cause trouble at the service entrance,” Athos said. They had a supply of explosives with them for that very purpose. “But that would put the entire place on alert.”

“If we have to, we’ll do it that way. Let’s keep going, see what Q comes up with.”

When they reached the side of the compound opposite to where d’Artagnan was waiting, Athos radioed. “Checking in, d’Artagnan. Report?”

“I haven’t seen any ground patrols at all. You?”

“None.”

“The guards on the walls are stationary, no patrols. How’s it look?”

“Tricky. We’ll be very visible wherever we climb. Monsieur Q is working on a diversion.”

“Okay. Oh, hang on. A truck’s just driven up and been let into that service entrance.”

“What kind of truck?”

“Big. Hauling something heavy, I’d judge.”

“Okay. We’re half an hour from you. Just completing the perimeter check on the return.”

“Understood.”

“Athos out.”

Bond touched Athos’s shoulder and pointed upwards. “Chopper.” As Athos listened, the _whuh whuh_ sounds grew slowly louder. “There, I can see the light.”

“It’s coming in. That’s a Black Hawk.”

“No markings.” He radioed Q.

“007, I’m still working—”

“Never mind that. A Black Hawk helicopter just landed at the compound, big one, no markings. Our friends in Libreville might want to take an interest.”

Bond heard Q ordering one of his people to bring up the security feed for the helipad. “No signs of loading or unloading. No one’s left the helicopter, so they’re waiting...oh, right. Lift ascending from the second basement level.”

“Want to bet it’s carrying drums of chemicals?”

“No, because you’re right. Shit. Ten hundred-litre barrels. They’re moving it to the helipad now.”

“Tell the French to keep an eye out for another chopper, Q because just before this one landed, another heavy transport arrived at the compound. The captain was right. Some of the stuff is being moved out through here.”

“Then I suggest you get into position because that would be an ideal distraction, if I can make the next helicopter crash on landing.”

“We don’t know if—”

“I have a back up idea, 007. Have a little faith.”

“Yes, Q. 007 out.”

He turned to Athos. “D’Artagnan should meet us at the access location. If we’re right about a second aircraft, that could be as soon as this one clears the compound.”

“Agreed.” Athos radioed d’Artagnan and gave him instructions on where to meet and where to hide. “What should I tell Aramis?”

“To go ahead as soon as we begin our move. No point them hanging around longer than that. But they mustn’t move sooner.”

Athos nodded, then radioed Aramis and told him to be ready to go on Athos’s command.

“Let’s go.”

D’Artagnan reached the rendezvous first and was crouching in the shadows as they approached. “So why the big hurry?” he asked.

Athos explained, and as he finished, Bond heard the helicopter lifting off from the helipad. “Q? They’re leaving.”

“Our friends will track and force it down. I have an aircraft approaching your position. Ten minutes’ out. Are you ready to move?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll force it to crash land, and if we need further diversion, I can overload the generators. They’ll have a backup though, so don’t count on more than your bare fifteen minutes to reach topside.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Q out.”

They could only wait. “Hope your climbing skills are up to scratch,” Bond said, wishing he had a cigarette.

“Oh, I’m hopeless,” Athos said, deadpan.

“Yeah, I know, boss. You only managed El Capitan once, slacker.” D’Artagnan shook his head in mock disgust.

“You climbed El Capitan?” Bond asked.

“We all did,” Athos said. “Team building exercise last year. d’Artagnan had to show off though. He’s done it twice.”

“Jesus,” Bond said. And here he was thinking he was the mountaineer among them. Athos’s hidden depths had hidden depths.

“We’re not exactly wearing the right kit for this,” d’Artagnan said. “Maybe I should take my shoes off.”

“Don’t. We’ll manage.”

“Bond?” Bond turned up his radio. “Helicopter confirmed. Seven minutes your position. Get ready to go. I’ll have the security cameras disabled. When you get over the wall, head to your left. There’s a stairwell.”

“Understood, Q. Bond out.”

Athos spoke to Aramis. “Seven minutes. Be ready.”

There was a twenty-metre-wide clear space they had to cross to get to the base of the wall. Bond tested his feet inside his shoes. D’Artagnan was right—they weren’t ideal for this, but he’d climbed in worse. And this wall was nothing compared to El Capitan.

They could hear the chopper now, and see its landing lights. Athos had his hand on his radio, reading to signal Aramis. The only sound above the cicadas and bush babies and low unidentified grunts from animals, was their breathing, loud even with the helicopter coming.

The explosion was magnificent, the shock of it felt deep in their chests, fire spewing into the sky, and the noise horrendous. Bits of metal flew past the ramparts into the trees forcing them to duck.

“Go!” Athos said into his radio, and Bond sprinted to the wall.

Bond was halfway up the wall when he heard another explosion, this time fainter and coming from inside. The generators, he guessed. Q was throwing everything at them.

The climb went faster than Bond could have hoped, and he was helping Athos over the wall in under ten minutes, d’Artagnan thirty seconds later. The crash kept the guards fully occupied, with the fire still burning and the smell of burnt flesh detectable even over the aviation fuel.

They got to the stairwell undetected. Athos took point now, d’Artagnan still in the rear. “Two,” Bond signalled, pointing down.

The lock on the door into the residential floor had been disabled, for which Bond thanked Q in his head. Athos counted back from three with fingers folding down, then he opened the door. He shot the guard on the other side, though another had time to duck and yell for help. Bond killed him too, but too late to stop the alarm being raised.

They ran down the corridor, testing the door of each room and killing any occupant they found, while d’Artagnan mopped up guards running in from behind. But by the time they reached the end of the corridor, they’d seen no sign of Rochefort or Milady. “Q? Target not found.”

“Go down one floor, there’s activity there. Yes, target visible. Stairwell on your right.”

Bond and Athos turned, but as they did, d’Artagnan fired at three men charging towards them from the rear. Bond threw the stairwell door opened, but he heard d’Artagnan yell. “D’Artagnan!”

Bond grabbed Athos, intending to pull him through the doorway, but there were guards on the stairs, and he had to dodge bullets. “Lower your weapon or you die!” one of them shouted in French. More shouts came from behind them, in the corridor. They were cornered.

The guards backed them up into the corridor. D’Artagnan was down, though trying to move. Athos was unharmed, hands in the air. With guns pointed at them and at their fallen team mate, Bond allowed himself to be stripped of his equipment and weapons.

A blond man came up from the stairs. Rochefort. “I wonder who sent you lot,” he said. “Bring them downstairs to the brig.”

Rochefort’s men tied their wrists and arms behind them, before dragging d’Artagnan to his feet and doing the same, despite the wound in his shoulder. Bond kept looking for a weak point to attack but these men knew their job. No amount of struggling from either Bond or Athos could make them drop their position and just earned the two of them several painful punches in the gut.

The ‘brig’ was a stone-lined, windowless room that Bond doubted ever held anything as innocuous as misbehaving employees. He and Athos were chained to a wall by their wrists and feet. D’Artagnan’s shirt was cut off him and his shoulder wound covered front and back with a field dressing, before he was hauled to his feet and suspended from the ceiling by his wrists. His feet were chained to the floor, the guards taking no chances of a disabling kick.

Rochefort examined them, pretending to smirk, though his eyes glittered with something else—anger? Madness? He was known to be paranoid and unstable. “So, boys, where are we all from this evening?” He slapped d’Artagnan’s face. “Where are you from?” All he got was a stream of street slang Spanish. He slapped d’Artagnan again. D’Artagnan only grinned, until Rochefort hit him in his injured shoulder, and the kid tried to curl over the pain. He still never uttered a word in French.

Rochefort tried Bond. “I have no idea what you are saying, shit sucker,” Bond said in Russian. Athos said more or less the same thing, only in perfect German.

“I see we have three tough guys,” Rochefort said to his guards. “Maybe you’ll feel more chatty once we soften you up.” He nodded to one of the guards. “I’ll be back soon. I have to clear up a little mess first.” Bond thought he seemed rather unperturbed for a man who’d just had a helicopter crash on his house. Maybe this happened a lot.

The senior guard walked around d’Artagnan, smiling. D’Artagnan kept his eyes straight ahead, neither on Bond nor Athos. He knew what was coming. They all did. Now they’d been captured, Q would send the drones in two hours, as agreed. Bond and the others had that long to live unless they managed to escape first. Unlikely. So their aim would be to keep Rochefort here in the compound until the attack came.

 _Attack the youngest, weakest member._ That was a tried and true method of breaking a team’s resistance. The that it was traditional didn’t make it any less effective.

D’Artagnan weathered the punches to his gut and kidneys in silence, but screamed when they broke ribs with an expandable baton. Athos spat a single German swearword when that happened, but said nothing else. He kept his eyes on d’Artagnan though, as if trying to send strength to his young team mate by the force of his will.

They kept targeting d’Artagnan’s ribs and shoulder, but smashed an ankle too, forcing him to hang in his chains, the full weight of his body on his wrists and damaged torso. They largely left his head alone—what was the point of causing agony if the victim was too dazed to fully appreciate it?—but slapped him a few times, earning one of them a face full of bloody spittle. That made the torturer lose control a bit, and by the end of it, d’Artagnan was unconscious.

Athos was now swearing under his breath in German, or maybe he was praying. Hardly mattered, so long as he didn’t break. Bond was saving his strength for his turn. There would always be a ‘his turn’ in this scenario.

D’Artagnan had water thrown over him to wake him up, and all the better to feel the electric baton shoved against his bare skin. He kept yelling, though, impressively, he never dropped into French, sticking to Spanish. Maybe the control he needed to remember the swearing helped him. Bond had done the same at times. Nothing really helped that much.

Athos straightened up suddenly. The lead torturer had his hand at d’Artagnan’s trousers, undoing the belt and unzipping them, letting them fall. Bond closed his eyes. D’Artagnan didn’t need anyone seeing him being hurt this way.

Athos fell silent while d’Artagnan screamed, but his body was rigid and his fists clenched hard enough to break bones. Surely this would be the end of them targeting the kid. Either they’d kill him or turn to one of the other two.

The sounds of his screams still echoed when Bond heard the door being opened. Rochefort walked in, still smirking. Behind him, Milady, expression revealing neither recognition nor surprise.

“Still playing tough, are we?” Rochefort went to d’Artagnan, gripped his chin and forced his head this way and that. “It’d be fun taking my time with this one, Anne, don’t you think?”

“Hard to tell in this state,” she said, her upper lip curling.

“Cut him down,” Rochefort ordered, while walking over to Athos. “Hmmm, didn’t like what we did to your little friend, did you? Boyfriend, is he?”

“Pig fucker,” Athos said calmly in German.

“I’m sure that was very rude, but I don’t speak that language. Anne?”

“Very rude indeed.”

“Oh dear. I’ll have to teach you a lesson about manners. Knife,” he snapped at the guard nearest him.

Milady stood behind the guard Rochefort had spoken to, as if to get a closer look at Athos. Her husband betrayed no recognition or emotion as she came near. In front of them the other two guards had removed d’Artagnan from the ceiling chains and were undoing those around his ankles.

As Rochefort moved forward with the borrowed knife, Bond heard a gunshot, and the guard near Rochefort collapsed. Another two quick shots, and the other guards died. Rochefort turned in shock. “Anne,” he said, then died as Milady shot him in the forehead.

“Anne?” Athos said.

She said nothing as she grabbed the padlock keys and undid Bond’s manacles, then tossed him the keys. “Release him,” she said, nodding at Athos. “Then we need to get out of here.”

Bond grabbed her arm and seized her weapon. “What are you playing at?”

“I’m leaving. So are you, if you cooperate. I don’t care one way or the other. Hurry up before the other guards come!”

She stripped pistols from the three dead guards while Bond did as she said, then she tossed one to her husband. “Move. This way. If you can carry him,” she said, nodding at d’Artagnan, “then he comes. If not, too bad.”

“I’ve got him,” Athos said. “You watch her,” he said to Bond.

Bond relieved her of her newly acquired pistol. She rolled her eyes. “Fool, you need me.”

“Yes, we do, so I’m going to take _very_ good care of you. Athos?”

Athos had d’Artagnan in a fireman’s carry. “Go. I’ve got him.”

Bond put his pistol to the back of the woman’s head. “Lead on, Milady.”

She opened the cell door. “This way, and down one floor. To the transport pool.”

Bond’s grip on her was enough to give the guards they encountered pause long enough for him or Athos to shoot them. He held her in front of them as they rode the lift down to the second basement level. “Where is our stuff?” he demanded.

“I don’t know. Rochefort took it. Hurry, will you?”

More guards, but Bond disposed of them easily. She made them run over to a collection of vehicles, and pointed to a Range Rover. “Take this, go.” She shook off Bond’s grip with surprising ease and pulled a small calibre pistol from her trouser pocket, aiming it at his head. “The keys are in the ignition. The door will open as the car approaches.”

She ran off. “Stop!” She ignored Bond’s call. He raised his weapon to shoot her, but Athos swung d’Artagnan’ body into him, spoiling his shot and nearly knocking him over. “What the hell?”

“Leave it. D’Artagnan needs medical assistance, stat.”

Bond glared, but Milady was gone. “You idiot. We were supposed to take her.”

Athos was too busy loading d’Artagnan into the back seat of the Range Rover to argue. “I’m going, 007, whether you’re coming or not.”

Bond shouldered him aside. “Let me drive. You deal with him.”

Athos got into the back seat with his team mate. Bond started the car, and drove hell for leather to the rolling door, not waiting for it to full open before he charged through. The few shots fired by guards late to the party bounced off the car’s body. Armour plated, he realised.

“How is he?” Bond shouted, glancing at the other two in the rear view mirror.

“Not good. There’s a walkie talkie here. I’m going to try Aramis. Head for the pick up point.”

Bond drove as ordered. The pick up was a kilometre off the service road, on another track.

Athos succeeded in raising Aramis. “We’re clear, but no luck with the beacons. Tell Q to send the UAVs in. Rochefort’s dead. No, she got away. See you in ten, if not before.”

“Got away thanks to you,” Bond muttered.

Athos ignored him, if he’d even heard. He’d found a medical kit in the back, and water, so was helping d’Artagnan drink and wiping the worst of the abrasions. By the time Bond turned off the service road towards the pick up, Athos had put another dressing over the bloodied ones on d’Artagnan’s shoulder.

“Call Aramis, we’re nearly there.”

Athos did so. A minute later, Bond stopped the car and waited. Headlights flashed twice. “That’s his signal,” Athos said. “We’re safe.”

Bond drove the remaining two hundred metres. Aramis and Porthos ran to their vehicle. “Did you take out the facility?” Bond asked.

“Did we?” Porthos said with a grin. “Best fireworks ever.”

“Aramis, hurry. D’Artagnan’s badly injured.”

“How long before evac?” Bond asked Porthos, as Aramis rushed to help Athos in the back seat.

“Ten minutes. Were you followed?”

“Don’t think so. Stay alert though.”

Bond, using Aramis’s rifle, and Porthos, stood guard over the other three. Porthos put his hand to his ear, listening to Q. “T minus one, guys.”

Aramis eased d’Artagnan out of the back seat of the car, Athos supporting his injured leg. D’Artagnan was conscious, just, but not really aware. Porthos looked at him. “How bad?”

“Just get him back to the base,” Athos said. Porthos nodded, his mouth turned down. Bond heard the helicopter approaching.

It touched down, and a French airman waved them forward. Aramis and Athos carried d’Artagnan in a two-handed seat to the chopper, where he was loaded onto a stretcher and taken into the aircraft. They lifted off less than a minute after the chopper had landed.

The army paramedic on board took over d’Artagnan’s care from Aramis, but he and Athos would not be moved from their positions close to their friend. Porthos, Bond was sure, would have joined them if there had been room.

“Look,” Porthos said, pointed out the window. “The compound’s been hit.”

Bond twisted to see. A fireball rose in the distance in a way that could have been beautiful, if you didn’t know what it meant. Or even if you did. “Rochefort was already dead.”

“Yeah, but it’s still good to see. Pity he’s not there to suffer a bit more.”

“Dead is dead. He lost.”

Porthos grunted, whether in agreement or acknowledgement, Bond didn’t care. Despite the completion of the three primary objectives, the loss of Milady rankled, because her capture could have been achieved without any difficulty. Well, not much, anyway. Bloody Athos.

A military ambulance met them on landing and whisked d’Artagnan away. The other four were loaded into a van and driven to the barracks and a room where they could sleep.

Now Bond could have that fag. “Does anyone have a cigarette?”

Athos came over and offered him a pack. “Come outside,” Bond suggested. Athos hesitated, then nodded.

The air was still and heavy, Bond sweating despite having only his t-shirt. “How do think he’ll do?” he asked after accepting a light from Athos.

“He’s tough.”

“Ever been interrogated like that before?”

“No. You?”

“Much worse. Takes a while to get over it. Why did you let her go? I had her, you know I had her.”

“She wasn’t a primary objective. And forcing her would have caused a delay. D’Artagnan needed to be evacuated.”

“And that was the only reason? She didn’t tell Rochefort who we were.”

“With her, who knows what game she was playing? I suspect she realised he was finished and wanted to be able to move onto her next victim. Wouldn’t be the first time.” Athos took a long drag on his cigarette, then exhaled. “It wasn’t for my sake.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s not the first time I’ve encountered her since. She hates me.”

“Why? She betrayed _you_.”

Athos walked away, apparently fascinated by a rubbish bin a little way from them. Bond followed, curious to know the answer. “After...she killed. Thomas, my brother. She came to me, looking for help. Said he was the real traitor and she wanted to come in. I refused and tried to capture her. I wounded her but she got away. She offered no proof. Apparently I was supposed to take her word for it.”

“She must have thought you were besotted.”

“I was. But I’m not a fool. Thomas would never betray France. So no, she wasn’t saving me in particular tonight. We were her diversion. I know she’d have died rather than let us take her in as a prisoner.”

“That was one of the objectives.”

“And while she was running, she was diverting attention from us.” Athos straightened up. “Report me as you wish. I stand by what I did.”

Bond took another drag. “What’s the point? We should get some sleep.”

“You go on. I’m going to find out where they have Charles.”

“He’ll be sedated.”

“I don’t care. He should have one of us with him.”

Bond nodded. “I hope he’s okay. He’s a brave man.”

“One of the very best. As are you, 007,” he said with a slight bow of his head. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Good night.”

⚜-☓ -⚜-☓ -⚜

Bond flew back to Paris the next morning, on his own. He didn’t even have a chance to drop into La Piscine to speak to Constance, but instead was taken by military jet to RAF Northolt. He was back at MI6’s headquarters by five pm, and in Mallory’s office ten minutes later.

Mallory offered him a drink. “Splendid work, 007. Everything went smoothly?”

“Except for the bit when we were captured and only achieved our primary objective through Rochefort’s mistress turning on him and doing our job.”

“Saving her own skin in the process. The cardinal’s pleased.”

“Be still my heart. Any word on the condition of the injured French agent?”

“Not really my concern, 007. Your kit will arrive back from Paris in due course. Take the rest of the week off.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Moneypenny handed him his phone and house keys on the way out of Mallory’s office. “How was it?”

“Not as bad as some,” he said.

“Well that’s informative. And the French guys? I hear they’re pretty handsome.”

“They are. Gayer than laughing gas though.”

She shook her head smiling. “All the good ones are gay or married.”

“Which one am I?’

“I thought I said the _good_ ones, James. Heading home?”

“Popping down to see Q, then yes.”

“He’s not there. Mallory sent him home. He _was_ up all night handling your mission.”

“Silly me, forgetting. See you Monday, Eve.”

“Have a good weekend, James.”

Bond wasn’t surprised to find the front door alarm disabled at his flat, nor to find a used teapot on his kitchen counter. He showered and poured himself a scotch before heading to his bedroom to sit beside his visitor until he woke up. The warm body against his leg was a balm on a mind too occupied with memories of agonised screams against a background of desperate, helpless prayers in German.

It wasn’t long before Q rolled to his side, flung his arm over Bond’s leg, and lifted his head. “James.”

“Q.”

“How are you?”

“In one piece, as ordered.” Bond stroked his fingers through Q’s long messy hair. “How much did you hear?”

“All of it, poor sod. Constance says he’ll be fine, physically. As for the rest, well, you know.”

“Any trace of Milady?”

“None. I’d say she’d had her escape planned for a while, possibly since Paris. The French don’t seem too worried.”

“They should be. She’s smart and dangerous.”

“Yes.” He yawned. “Time?”

“Nearly six. Supper?”

“Please.” He snuggled next to Bond’s leg. “Glad you’re back safe.”

“Me too.”

“How did you like working with the French? Was it tiresome?”

“No.” Q lifted his head to look at Bond again. “Not most of the time. They’re all good blokes.”

“Bad luck they have to work for the cardinal.”

“People used to say that about me and M.”

“We all know you really work for me, 007.”

Bond laughed. “Completely true. Now tell me what you want to eat, lazy bones.”


	5. Epilogue

He was at a bar in Mayfair when she slid onto the stool next to him. Only his training stopped him jerking in surprise.

“I’ll have what he’s having,” she said to the bartender, “and another for Mr...?”

As she knew his name, only what identity he was using right now was to be determined. “Bond. James Bond.”

“Another for Mr Bond.” The bartender went off to prepare the drink. Milady smiled, her eyes as green and unrevealing as a cat’s. “I do hope you don’t still want to capture me, James.”

“I’m off the clock, as it happens.”

She looked him up and down, assessing the Six-provided Tom Ford suit, the watch, and the cufflinks. “I think not, but I doubt I’m part of your mission tonight. You have time to spare for me before you meet your contact.”

A statement, not a question. “A few minutes,” he conceded. “I don’t suppose you’re planning to surrender to the mercy of the British.”

“Sadly, no.” The bartender set their drinks before them, and she sipped hers. “Mmm, not exactly the martini I was expecting. Pleasant enough, though.”

“Do you want to take this somewhere more private?”

“I don’t think so, James. I don’t know who I trust less, you or me. How is Athos?”

“Alive, so far as I know.” And was that the slightest relaxing of her tense smile? “We decided his...intemperate decision...could remain between us.”

“I’m sure he’s not remotely grateful. Always was one to face the firing squad with grim, pointless bravery, my Olivier.”

“I’ll remember to drop him in it properly next time, since he enjoys it so much. Is that why you did it?”

“Rather an elaborate way to please my husband, don’t you think? To betray my adopted country and kill his brother?”

“So why did you? Does SPECTRE pay that well?”

“It does.” The diamonds at her throat, wrist, and ears were large and quite real. Her eyes glittered nearly as brightly.

“But you didn’t do it for that reason, did you? I mean, you _are_ working for the Cardinal, aren’t you?”

She saluted him with her glass. “Oh, well done, Mr Bond. How did you work it out?”

“Killing your boss was a big hint.”

“I might have been trying to take over from him. Or he was about to kill me, perhaps.”

“Maybe. But that _and_ the fact you left our trace on your laptop _and_ you pretended to let me seduce you _and_ you loaded the Range Rover with medical supplies and water quite accidentally, all because you were scared of Rochefort? Not a chance.”

“And yet Olivier missed all of it.”

“Did he? He made me let you go.”

She dismissed that with a wave of her hand. “Sentiment. His biggest weakness.”

“Is that why you killed his brother? To make sure he believed you’d turned?”

“No. I killed Thomas because the little shit was selling secrets to anyone who would pay him, while trying to implicate me. He even thought he could blackmail me into bed with him.”

“Then why run? Why not tell Athos the truth?”

Her eyes now held the smallest hint of pain, though her red lips never stopped smiling. “Because of sentiment, dear James. Thomas had done enough to ruin my name, and Olivier would never believe I’d killed him in self-defence. His hate is my best cover.”

“Was it actually self-defence?”

“No. I killed him on the Cardinal’s orders, to get rid of a real double agent and set myself up as a credible fake.”

“And that’s it? You destroyed your marriage for the bloody _job_?”

His venom surprised her briefly, but then she narrowed her eyes. “Thomas destroyed my marriage when he tried to force me to sleep with him. Olivier would never have believed the truth. There was no subject too trivial for him to side with his brother on. I could swear on my deathbed that Thomas was a would-be rapist and Olivier would still doubt my word. He loved me, but he knew I had been raised without the sainted honour he prizes so very, very highly.” She sipped her drink again, still in control of every movement despite the hurt in her voice. “I was the cardinal’s long before I was Olivier’s. So the Cardinal let me make the best I could of the situation.”

“Which is why he wanted Athos on this mission. He knew Athos wouldn’t stand for you being killed, whatever he claimed.” She gave him a little smile to tell him he’d guessed correctly again. “You must be worth a lot to his eminence.”

She shrugged elegantly. “Just like you, I get close to unpleasant people, then kill them or steal their secrets or let them think I love them, as suits his eminence’s orders. It’s useful work in the service of France, and I’m well rewarded by both sides.”

“Triple agents have a very short life expectancy, milady.”

“So do double-ohs, but look at you, James. Nearly fifty and still swaggering like a young blood. Women can’t get away with that so easily.”

“Somehow I think you will.”

“Thanks, but I don’t want to be doing this forever.”

“And can you ever come home? Have the cardinal tell Athos the truth and return to him?”

Her smile slipped for the first time, as did her steady gaze. She deflected by stealing his drink, and taking a long swallow. “No. We’re not who we were then, not any more. Whatever the reason, I killed Thomas, and it would break him beyond repair to realise what his brother was. He refused to believe me when I tried to tell him years ago. However much I hurt him by going, he still has a chance of moving on. And I will survive. I’m very good at survival.” She looked up at him again. “Please don’t tell him.”

“I won’t.”

“Thank you.” She slid gracefully off the stool and held out her hand. “Now I see your contact is on her way. Goodbye, Mr Bond. No doubt we will meet again.”

He kissed her hand. “Perhaps we will. Good luck, Milady,” he added quietly.

She smiled and walked away with head held high, her expression bright and cold as snow.

“Mr Bond?”

Bond turned, smiled at the leggy girl-child trying to look much older and wiser than her years, and indicated the stool beside him. “Please, call me James.” She smiled as she sat down. “You look beautiful.” She blushed as he let his eyes rake her up and down, assessing. “So, what would you like to drink, darling?”

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about the French foreign security department or Gabon beyond what Wikipedia tells me. My apologies for any insult delivered in the name of frivolous entertainment.
> 
> The next story will have all the yummy h/c in it because you know d'Artagnan is going to needs lots of love and comfort after this. And maybe Athos could do with some cuddles too, what do you reckon? :)
> 
> All criticism, comments, and correction eagerly sought and gratefully received.


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